-  •  r  -•    I-'-   ,,   ;•,   ..  : 


Clara  Louise 


340D 


THE   CALL 


The  Inner  Flame 

A  Novel 

by 
Clara  Louise  Burnham 


NEW  YORK 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,    1912,    BY   CLARA  LOUISE   BVRNHAM 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 


Contents 

I.  A  NOVEMBER  NIGHT I 

II.  SEVERED  COMPANIONSHIP  ....     25 

III.  MRS.  FABIAN'S  VISIT 41 

IV.  PHILIP  SIDNEY 55 

V.    ELIZA'S  INVITATION 79 

VI.  BROTHER  AND  SISTER         ....     95 

VII.  THE  FLITTING 114 

VIII.  AN  INTERRUPTED  TEA        .       .       .       -131 

IX.   HEIRLOOMS 157 

X.  THE  ARRIVAL 176 

XL  MRS.  FABIAN'S  GIFTS         ....  194 

XII.  MRS.  FABIAN'S  DINNER  LIST         .       .  209 

XIII.  CHRISTMAS 222 

XIV.  SPRING 242 

XV.  JUNE 258 

XVI.  THE  PEACEMAKER 276 


2228435 


Contents 

XVII.   MRS.  FABIAN'S  SCHEME   ....  296 

XVIII.    CASCO  BAY 312 

XIX.    FLASHES  OF  BLUE 328 

XX.   ELIZA  SURRENDERS 347 

XXI.  THE  SINGER 366 

XXII.   THE  NEW  STUDIO      .      .      . "    .      .383 

XXIII.  PHILIP'S  LETTER 400 

XXIV.  PHILIP  ENTERTAINS 405 

XXV.   BY  MOONLIGHT 429 

XXVI.   TIDES 450 

XXVII.   THE  SON 466 

XXVIII.  A  TIDAL  WAVE 480 


The  Inner  Flame 


The  Inner  Flame 

CHAPTER  I 

A  NOVEMBER  NIGHT 

SOFT  snowflakes  whirled  around  the  lonely 
mountain  cabin  under  a  November  sky.  The 
wind  that  had  rushed  up  the  valley  sighing  and 
groaning  between  the  wooded  walls,  now 
roared  its  wild  delight  in  the  freedom  of  the 
heights.  The  twilight  was  deepening  fast.  Two 
women  were  alone  in  the  cabin.  The  one  who 
was  at  home  stooped  and  put  another  log  on  the 
blazing  fire.  The  other  could  not  have  stooped, 
no  matter  how  willing  her  spirit,  so  straitly  and 
fashionably  was  her  ample  figure  bound  by  art- 
ful bone  and  steel.  - 

"Mercy,  Mary!"  she  ejaculated,  standing 
stock  still  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  fixed  there 
by  a  triumphant  shriek  of  the  rioting  wind.  "I 
never  had  the  least  desire  to  go  up  in  an  aero- 
plane. Are  you  well  anchored  here?" 

"Like  a  lichen  on  a  rock,"  returned  Mary 
I 


The  Inner  Flame 

Sidney,  smiling.  "  Take  off  your  hat,  Isabel, 
and  be  comfy." 

"Do  you  think  we  must  stay  all  night?"  de- 
murred the  visitor.  "You  know  I  love  you, 
Mary,  and  if  that  wind  would  just  let  us  hear 
ourselves  think,  I  would  n't  ask  anything  bet- 
ter than  an  evening's  chat  with  you  alone." 

"You  would  n't  as  it  is,"  returned  Mrs.  Sid- 
ney soothingly,  approaching  her  cousin  and 
unpinning  the  veil  which  Mrs.  Fabian  had  not 
raised.  The  visitor  clung  to  her  wraps  with  the 
feeling  that  an  entire  readiness  to  flee  back  to 
the  haunts  of  men  would  aid  her  to  depart. 
Mary  Sidney's  calm  amused  smile  carried  some 
reassurance.  It  flickered  across  her  face  as  the 
firelight  flickered  across  the  dark  rafters  above. 

"I  told  Henry  I  thought  the  sky  looked 
threatening  before  we  left  town,"  declared  the 
guest  while  she  submitted  to  the  gentle  touch, 
"  but  nothing  would  do  but  that  he  should  visit 
the  mine  this  very  afternoon.  Is  n't  this  fear- 
ful, Mary?"  as  a  renewed  gust  shook  the  firelit 
rafters  until  they  creaked  heavily. 

"Oh,  no,  this  sounds  a  great  deal  worse  than 
it  is,"  was  the  response. 

"You  're  comforting  me,  I  know  you  are"; 
and  Mrs.  Fabian,  denuded  of  her  correct  hat, 

2 


A  November  Night 

permitted  herself  to  take  the  offered  chair  by 
the  fire.  "  I  hope,  though,  that  you  have  a  kennel 
of  St.  Bernard  dogs  in  the  back  yard.  I  should 
like  to  see  Henry  again>  bad  as  he  is !" 

Mrs.  Sidney  took  the  other  chair  and  rolled 
a  blazing  log  to  a  better  position. 

"You'll  see  the  men  coming  along  in  a  little 
while  —  when  they  grow  hungry,"  she  returned 
placidly. 

"And  how  in  the  world  do  you  get  servants 
up  here?"  demanded  the  other. 

"We  don't.  We  could  get  a  Chinaman,  but  if 
we  had  him  we'd  have  to  amuse  him,  there's  no 
one  else  for  him  to  talk  to,  so  we  go  without." 

"Horrors!  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Fabian  with  sol- 
emn repugnance.  "And  you  live  here  alone!" 

The  hostess  laughed  at  her  tone.  "Not 
enough  of  the  year  to  dislike  it.  One  learns  a  lot 
of  things  in  these  hills  —  bidding  farewell  to 
time,  for  instance.  You  see  a  man  with  a  gun 
tramping  through  the  valley  and  you  rush  to 
the  door,  and  cry  out,  'Hey,  there,  you  with 
the  gun,  what  day  is  this?'  and  the  man 
turns  and  shouts  back,  'You  can't  prove  it  by 
me!"' 

Mrs.  Sidney  laughed  again  and  her  cousin 
shuddered. 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Thank  God  for  civilization!"  ejaculated 
the  latter  devoutly;  then,  as  the  window-glass 
sucked  in  and  out  with  a  cracking  sound,  "Give 
me  my  hat,  Mary,"  she  said,  sitting  up.  "If 
we're  going  down  the  mountain-side,  let's  go 
decently  and  in  order." 

"For  shame,  you  Maine  woman!"  was  the 
laughing  rejoinder.  "Your  sea-captains  would 
call  this  'a  breeze  o'  wind!'  That's  all.  That's 
another  thing  one  becomes  acquainted  with  up 
here :  the  wind.  I  did  n't  know  anything  about  it 
when  I  came.  You  should  be  here  some  nights 
if  you  call  this  a  storm !  I  used  to  set  my  dish- 
pans  out  at  the  door;  but  when  a  few  had 
whirled  down  the  mountain-side  into  the  val- 
ley, I  learned  caution.  One  can't  go  around  the 
corner  here  and  buy  a  dish-pan." 

"Mary,"  Mrs.  Fabian  eyed  her  with  be- 
wildered admiration,  "you  're  wonderful!  You 
did  n't  used  to  be  wonderful,"  she  added  in  an 
argumentative  tone.  "Once  you'd  have  made 
just  as  much  fuss  about  this  as  I  would.  You 
remember  —  if  you  try,  you  '11  remember  per- 
fectly—that I  warned  you,  more  than  twenty- 
five  years  ago,  not  to  marry  a  mining  engineer. 
I  told  you  then  it  was  just  as  bad  as  marrying 
an  army  officer.  There  would  be  no  repose  about 

4 


A  November  Night 

it,  and  no  comfort.  You  see  I  was  right.  Here 
we  are,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  in  a  shrieking 
balloon,  and  you  call  it  home!"  The  speaker 
kept  a  watchful  eye  on  the  rattling  casement 
and  drew  herself  up  with  renewed  tension  at 
each  wind  blast,  but  nevertheless  she  talked 
on. 

"With  it  all  you  have  n't  as  many  lines  in 
your  face  as  I  have,  and  your  hair  is  as  brown  as 
ever.  Mine  would  be  white  if  I  lived  here  in- 
stead of  in  New  York.  And  the  calmness  of 
your  eyes,  and  your  smile !  Tell  me,  Mary,  tell 
me  now  honestly, — I  shall  sympathize  with  you, 

—  is  it  the  calmness  of  despair?" 

Mary  Sidney  did  not  smile.  She  looked  into 
the  depths  of  the  fire  and  her  guest  wondered 
what  memories  were  unfolding  themselves  to 
her  rapt  vision. 

"No,"  she  answered  simply  at  last,  "such 
calmness  as  I  possess  is  not  of  despair,  but  of 

—  faith."  The  speaker  paused  before  the  utter- 
ance of  the  last  word  as  if  hesitating  for  the  one 
which  should  best  express  her  meaning. 

"Do  you  mean  something  religious?"  asked 
Mrs.  Fabian  stiffly. 

The  stiffness  was  not  disapproval.  It  was 
owing  to  the  divided  attention  she  was  bestow- 

5 


The  Inner  Flame 

ing  upon  the  storm,  lest  if  she  took  her  mind  off 
the  wind  it  might  seize  the  advantage  and  hurl 
the  cabin  from  its  moorings. 

"I  should  think  a  person  would  have  to  be 
religious  here,"  she  went  on.  "You  must  be 
reduced  —  simply  reduced  to  trusting  in  Pro- 
vidence!" 

Mary  Sidney  smiled  at  the  fire.  "  I  did  n't 
have  a  trusting  disposition.  I  did  n't  have  everr 
a  happy  disposition,  as  you  evidently  remem- 
ber." 

"Well,"  returned  Isabel,  "it  wasn't  a  bad 
one:  I  did  n't  imply  anything  like  that;  but  you 
were  one  of  the  spoiled-beauty  sort  of  girls,  not 
a  bit  cut  out  for  hardship,"  the  speaker  looked 
judicially  at  the  once  familiar  face,  softened 
from  its  old  brilliancy.  "What  an  advantage  it 
is  to  have  beautiful  eyes ! "  she  added  bluntly. 
"They  don't  desert  you  when  other  things  go; 
—  not  that  it  matters  a  bit  what  sort  of  eyes  a 
woman  has,  living  the  life  you  have." 

"Oh,  Allan  thinks  it  does,"  returned  Mary  in 
her  restful  manner. 

"Does  he  appreciate  you  ?"  Mrs.  Fabian 
asked  the  question  almost  angrily. 

Mrs.  Sidney  smiled.  "We  don't  talk  much 
about  that,  but  we  're  better  companions,  hap- 

6 


A  November  Night 

pier,  dearer,  than  we  were  twenty-five  years 
ago." 

Her  cousin  gazed  curiously.  "Then  it  did 
turn  out  all  right.  You  Ve  written  so  little 
to  your  friends.  How  could  your  relatives  tell  ? " 

"You  see,  now,  why,"  returned  the  other. 
"  There  's  not  much  letter-material  here,  and 
even  when  we  're  living  in  town,  all  our  friends 
and  our  pursuits  are  so  foreign  to  the  people  at 
home.  Little  by  little  one  gets  out  of  the  way  of 
writing." 

"Don't  you  ever  long  for  Fifth  Avenue?" 
asked  Mrs.  Fabian  suddenly,  her  cousin's  exile 
impressing  her  more  and  more  as  utter  for- 
lornity. 

"Oh,  no,  not  for  many  years." 

"You  never  could  have  kept  your  figure  there 
as  you  have  here,"  admitted  the  other  in  a  spirit 
of  justice.  "I  must  say  that,"  and  the  speaker 
composed  her  own  rigid  armor  into  a  less  un- 
comfortable position. 

"Do  your  own  housework,  Isabel,"  advised 
the  hostess  with  a  smile. 

"Heavens!  it  is  too  late  to  talk  to  me  about 
that.  I  've  enough  to  do  without  housework,  I 
should  hope.  You  Ve  no  idea  how  much  worse 
things  have  grown  in  twenty-five  years,  Mary. 

7 


The  Inner  Flame 

A  woman  has  so  much  on  her  mind  now  that 
nothing  but  regular  massage  from  the  crown 
of  her  head  to  her  heels  will  offset  it.  The 
modistes  and  milliners  are  in  a  conspiracy  to 
change  styles  so  often  that  it  takes  active 
thought  to  keep  abreast  of  them.  Then  you  no 
sooner  settle  down  really  to  learn  Bridge,  for 
instance,  and  feel  that  you  can  hold  your  own, 
than  everybody  begins  playing  Auction!  And 
to  know  what  people  are  talking  about  at  lunch- 
eons you  must  see  plays,  and  skim  through 
books,  reading  at  least  enough  so  you  can 
express  an  opinion;  not  that  anybody  listens. 
They  all  talk  at  once,  their  one  and  only  object 
seems  to  be  to  get  their  own  ideas  out  of  their 
systems.  I  was  glad  to  send  Kathleen  off  to 
school.  It  does  seem  as  if  the  girls  had  to  go 
to  college  to  escape  as  great  a  rush  as  we  grown- 
ups live  in.  Then  when  they  come  back,  having 
had  another  environment  for  four  years,  they 
adjust  themselves  to  their  own  homes  with  such 
a  sense  of  superiority  that  it  makes  you  tired; 
that's  what  it  does,  Mary,  tired.  I've  had  a 
taste  of  it  this  summer.  Kathleen  has  another 
year  to  go,  but  already  she  is  perfectly  changed. 
She  cares  no  more  for  my  advice,  I  assure  you, 
than  if  I  had  just  come  down  from  Mars  and 

8 


A  November  Night 

had  no  judgment  as  to  the  things  of  this  world. 
She 's  well-bred,  of  course,  —  I  hope  no  daughter 
of  mine  could  be  less  than  well-bred,  — but  when 
I  give  her  directions,  or  try  to  guide  her  in  any 
way,  there 's  a  twinkle  in  her  eye  that  I  resent, 
Mary,  I  resent  it  distinctly.  So  there  you  are!" 
Mrs.  Fabian  gestured  with  a  perfectly  kept 
hand  whereon  a  blazing  gem  flashed  in  the  fire- 
light. "There  we  a  re  between  Scylla  andCharyb- 
dis.  We  either  have  to  send  our  girls  to  college 
and  let  the  little  upstarts  think  they  've  out- 
grown us,  or  else  have  them  rushed  to  death  at 
home,  keep  them  up  on  tonics,  and  let  them 
sleep  till  noon!" 

With  this  dismal  peroration  Mrs.  Fabian  sat 
^s  far  back  in  her  chair  as  disciplined  adipose 
would  permit,  and  shuddered  again  at  the  wind. 

"  Is  a  son  an  easier  proposition  then,  in  that 
madding  crowd  of  yours?" 

"A  boy  does  seem  to  have  his  life  more 
plainly  mapped  out  than  a  girl.  Edgar  is  in  his 
father's  office."  The  speaker  sighed  uncon- 
sciously. "What  is  your  boy  like,  Mary?" 

Mrs.  Sidney  kept  silence  for  a  thoughtful 
moment  before  answering. 

"He  is  like  Pegasus  harnessed  to  a  coal- 
wagon,"  she  said  at  last  slowly. 

9 


The  Inner  Flame 

"How  very  extraordinary.  What  do  you 
mean?" 

Instead  of  replying,  Mrs.  Sidney  went  to  a 
table  in  the  far  corner  of  the  cabin  and  brought 
therefrom  a  portfolio  which  she  opened  on  the 
chair  beside  her  guest. 

A  mass  of  sketches  was  disclosed, —  charcoal, 
water-color,  oil.  Mrs.  Sidney  lifted  one,  and 
held  it  before  the  other's  eyes. 

Mrs.  Fabian  raised  her  lorgnette. 

"Why,  it's  you,  Mary;  and  it's  capital!" 
she  ejaculated. 

Another  and  another  sheet  was  offered  for  her 
inspection. 

"Why,  they're  all  of  you.  The  artist  must  be 
in  love  with  you." 

Mary  Sidney  gave  her  a  slight  smile.  "  I  hope 
so,  a  little,  but  it  was  Hobson's  choice  when  it 
came  to  models.  Phil  seldom  could  get  any  one 
beside  me.  Here 's  one  of  his  father.  He  had  to 
do  it  slyly  behind  a  newspaper,  for  Allan  is 
rather  impatient  of  Phil's  tendency." 

"So  that  is  what  your  boy  is  at!  It's  real 
talent,  isn't  it?" 

''Yes,  it  is,"  returned  the  mother  with  quiet 
conviction. 

"And  where  is  he  studying?" 
10 


A  November  Night 

"He  has  never  studied  anything  but  mining 
engineering.  He  is  working  with  his  father 
here." 

The  unconscious  sadness  of  the  speaker's  tone 
impressed  her  listener. 

"He  does  landscapes,  too,"  went  on  the  mo- 
ther, lifting  one  after  another  of  the  sketches 
of  mountain,  valley,  and  streamlet,  "  a  little  of 
everything,  you  see."  Mrs.  Sidney  regarded  the 
work  wistfully. 

"Why,  they're  lovely,"  declared  Mrs.  Fa- 
bian. "Why  don't  you  pin  them  up  on  the 
walls?" 

"Because  it  rather  annoys  Phil's  father,  to 
see  them,  and  it  only  tantalizes  the  boy." 

"  So  Mr.  Sidney  is  n't  willing  he  should 
study?" 

"  I  don't  think  he  would  thwart  us  if  he  saw 
any  hope  in  it,  but  one  can't  enter  on  the  life 
of  an  art-student  without  any  capital.  Allan 
knows  there  is  a  living  for  Phil  in  the  work  of 
a  mining  engineer,  so  he  has  discouraged  the 
boy's  talent." 

"It  is  a  great  responsibility  to  thwart  a 
child's  bent,"  declared  Mrs.  Fabian  impress- 
ively. 

"  I  have  always  felt  so.  I  used  to  be  very  rest- 
II 


The  Inner  Flame 

less  and  anxious  about  it.  My  husband  seemed 
to  feel  that  because  Phil  was  a  strapping  boy,  a 
natural  athlete,  that  painting  was  a  womanish 
profession  for  him.  He  had  the  ability  to  help 
him  into  mining  engineering  lines,  and  he  al- 
ways pooh-poohed  the  idea  of  Phil's  attempting 
to  be  an  artist."  Mrs.  Sidney  gave  a  little 
shrug.  "We  did  n't  have  the  money  anyway,  so 
Allan  naturally  has  had  his  way." 

"One  can't  blame  him,"  returned  Mrs. 
Fabian,  who  had  relaxed  as  the  wind  ceased  to 
shake  the  cabin.  "Painting  is  even  more  pre- 
carious than  acting;  yet  what  a  talent  the  boy 
has!" 

She  held  before  her  a  bold  sketch  in  charcoal 
of  the  mountain-side  in  the  winter  —  few  in 
strokes,  but  striking  in  its  breadth  and  power. 

"He  has  had  an  offer  from  a  newspaper  in 
Denver  to  take  the  position  of  cartoonist.  His 
ability  for  caricature  is  good.  See  these  of 
Allan." 

Mrs.  Fabian  laughed  as  she  examined  the 
small  sheets.  "  I  have  n't  seen  your  husband  for 
ten  years,  Mary,  but  these  recall  his  clean-cut 
face  better  than  a  photograph  would,  I  believe. 
Phil  rather  gets  back  at  his  father  in  these, 
does  n't  he?" 

12 


A  November  Night 

"Oh,  Allan  laughed  at  them  too.  He's  se- 
cretly proud  of  Phil's  cleverness,  even  while  he 
discourages  it.  He  tells  him  it  is  all  right  for  an 
accomplishment,  but  a  forlorn  hope  for  a 
living." 

"And  right  he  is,"  responded  Mrs.  Fabian, 
laying  down  the  sketches.  "Look  at  Aunt 
Mary's  experience.  There  she  has  lived  alone 
all  these  years  and  given  her  life  to  the  attempt 
to  make  a  name  in  the  artistic  world.  I  go 
sometimes  to  see  her,  of  course,  for  there  she  is 
right  in  town,  but  her  pictures  "  —  Mrs.  Fabian 
lifted  her  eyes  to  the  rafters  —  "they're 
daubs!" 

"I  know,"  returned  Mary  Sidney,  looking 
back  into  the  fire.  "  She  sent  me  one  on  my  last 
birthday.  She  never  forgets  her  name-child." 

Mrs.  Fabian  laughed.  "I  fancy  you  wished 
she  would,  for  that  time." 

"No,"  returned  the  hostess,  slowly,  "I  think 
Aunt  Mary  sees  more  than  she  has  the  tech- 
nique to  express.  She  gets  an  effect." 

Mrs.  Fabian  raised  her  eyebrows.  "  She  cer- 
tainly does.  She  makes  me  want  to  run  a  mile." 

"The  gift  led  to  our  having  a  little  corre- 
spondence. I  sent  her  a  couple  of  Phil's  sketches 
and  she  was  delighted  with  them," 

13 


The  Inner  Flame 

"She  might  well  be,"  was  the  answer.  There 
was  a  brief  silence,  then  the  visitor  continued: 
"So  Phil  is  something  of  a  bone  of  contention 
between  you  and  his  father?" 

"It  is  our  only  difference.  Yet  it  can  scarcely 
even  be  called  that,  because  it  is  a  fact  that  we 
have  n't  the  money  to  give  him  the  start  he 
should  have." 

Mrs.  Fabian  looked  at  her  cousin  curiously. 

"  So  this  new  calmness  of  yours  —  this  re- 
pose. It  is  resignation,  at  least,  if  not  despair." 

Mary  Sidney  smiled  at  the  fire.  "No,"  she 
returned,  "I  told  you.  It  is  faith." 

"Religion?" 

"Yes,  religion.  Not  the  sort  of  ideas  we  were 
brought  up  in,  Isabel.  Something  quite  differ- 
ent." 

"What  is  it,  then?  Where  did  you  find  it??r 

"It  found  me." 

"How  mysterious!  Is  that  wind  coming  up 
again,  Mary?" 

"How  it  blew  that  night!"  said  Mary  Sidney 
thoughtfully,  still  looking  into  the  fire.  "  It  was 
just  before  Thanksgiving,  I  remember,  five 
years  ago.  Allan  and  I  had  come  up  to  the  mine, 
Phil  had  gone  back  to  college,  and  one  night  a 
belated  traveller,  overtaken  by  the  storm  which 

14 


A  November  Night 

came  up  as  suddenly  as  this,  stopped  at  the  door 
and  asked  if  he  could  stay  all  night  with  us.  He 
was  one  of  these  vital  men,  full  of  energy,  who 
seem  to  exhale  good  cheer.  Allan  thoroughly 
enjoyed  a  talk  with  him  that  evening,  and  when 
we  went  to  bed  I  remember  his  sighing  and  re- 
marking that  a  man  must  be  either  a  fool  or  a 
philosopher  who  could  keep  such  an  optimistic 
outlook  on  life  as  this  Mr.  Tremaine.  I  re- 
turned that  perhaps  our  guest  had  struck  a 
gold-mine  here  in  the  mountains,  and  I  remem- 
ber how  Allan  grumbled  —  '  Either  that,  or  the 
pot  of  gold  at  the  end  of  the  rainbow.' 

"Allan  came  in  here  once,  where  we  had  left 
the  guest  to  sleep  on  the  couch,  to  see  if  he 
wanted  anything;  and  he  found  him  reading  in 
front  of  the  embers.  When  he  came  back  he 
remarked :  'That  fellow  has  a  smile  that  does  n't 
usually  last  beyond  the  tenth  year.'  The  next 
morning  dawned  bright  and  our  guest  was  in 
haste  to  depart.  He  tried  in  the  nicest  way  to 
pay  us  for  taking  in  a  stranger,  and  we  quite 
honestly  told  him  that  if  any  money  were  to 
pass  it  should  go  from  us  to  him  for  cheering  our 
exile.  He  took  from  his  pocket  a  small  black 
book  and  held  it  out  to  me.  'Then,'  he  said, 
'may  I  leave  with  you  a  little  book  which  has 

15 


The  Inner  Flame 

broken  up  the  clouds  of  life  for  me,  and  let  the 
light  stream  through?  You  have  time  up  here 
to  read,  —  and  to  think?'  He  made  the  addi- 
tion with  that  smile  which  had  roused  Allan's 
curiosity,  shook  hands  with  us  both,  thanked 
us  again,  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  away.  We 
never  saw  him  afterward.  I  often  wish  I  knew 
where  he  was,  that  I  might  thank  him." 
1  "What  was  the  book?"  asked  Mrs.  Fabian, 
impressed  by  the  fervor  of  the  other's  tone. 

"A  —  a  commentary  on  the  Bible.  A  new 
Jight  on  the  meaning  of  the  Bible." 

"How  queer!  I'm  sure  I  thought  our  family 
knew  as  much  about  the  Bible  as  the  average  of 
decent  people." 

Mrs.  Fabian's  tone  was  slightly  resentful. 

"We  did,"  returned  Mary  Sidney. 

"So  that's  what  you  meant  a  few  minutes 
ago  by  the  calm  of  faith." 

Mrs.  Sidney  nodded.  "I  know  now  what 
that  sentence  means:  'Cast  your  burden  on  the 
Lord.'  Phil  is  the  most  precious  thing  on  earth 
to  me.  The  years  seem  to  be  slipping  by  with- 
out showing  us  a  possible  path  to  what  we  wish. 
'Wait  patiently  on  the  Lord'  does  n't  mean 
inaction  either.  I've  learned  that.  I  know 
that  at  the  right  time  —  the  right  moment  — 

16 


A  November  Night 

circumstances  will  arise  to  show  us   if  Phil 
is  to—  " 

A  sudden  blast  of  wind  brought  a  start  and  a 
muffled  exclamation  from  the  guest,  and  at  the 
same  instant  a  stamping  sounded  outside.  The 
lamp-flames  rose  wildly,  and  smoked  in  the  in- 
stant of  opening  the  door  wide  enough  to  admit 
the  lithe  form  of  a  man  whose  shoulders  and 
soft  felt  hat  glistened  with  snow.  He  quickly 
closed  the  door  and  stamped  again,  taking  off 
the  hat  from  his  short  damp  locks  and  shaking 
it  vigorously. 

"Phil,  this  is  my  cousin,  Mrs.  Fabian,"  said 
Mrs.  Sidney.  "You  used  to  call  her  Aunt  Isabel 
when  you  were  a  little  chap  and  we  went  to  visit 
her  once.  Do  you  remember?" 
\.  "When  a  cousin  is  once  removed  she  becomes 
an  aunt,"  declared  Mrs.  Fabian,  looking  the 
young  man  over  with  approval. 

"My  hand  is  too  wet  to  shake,"  he  said, 
meeting  her  interested  gaze,  his  own  luminous 
in  the  firelight. 

"  Lucky  boy !  You  have  your  mother's  eyes ! " 
she  exclaimed. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Mary  Sidney;  "Phil's  are 
blue."  , 

"Dark  with  terror,  then!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 

if 


The  Inner  Flame 

Fabian,  again  anxious.  "Isn't  the  storm 
frightful?" 

Phil's  amused  glance  sought  his  mother's. 

"It's  sort  of  spitting  outside,"  he  returned, 
unbuttoning  his  corduroy  coat. 

"You're  making  fun  of  a  tenderfoot,"  said 
Mrs.  Fabian,  watching  his  keen  face  admir- 
ingly. "Don't  pretend.  What  have  you  done 
with  my  poor  innocent  husband?" 

"He'll  be  up  here  in  a  few  minutes  with  my 
poor  innocent  father  who  has  been  showing  him 
why  he'll  never  be  a  millionaire  out  of  that 


mine." 


"  What  do  I  care  if  he  is  n't,  so  long  as  he 
is  n't  lost  in  this  storm!" 

"I  came  on  ahead  because  the  mail  had  just 
been  brought  in."  As  he  spoke,  the  young  man 
brought  a  small  bunch  of  letters  and  papers 
from  an  inner  pocket. 

"A  great  excitement,  Isabel,"  said  the  host- 
ess. "Only  twice  a  week,  you  know." 

"There's  another  letter  from  the  Denver 
paper,"  went  on  Phil,  looking  at  his  mother 
steadily. 

"You'll  forgive  us  if  we  open  everything, 
won't  you,  Isabel?"  asked  Mrs.  Sidney. 

"Indeed,  yes.  Don't  mind  me."  Mrs.  Fabian 
18 


A  November  Night 

returned  to  her  chair  by  the  fire  and  regarded 
the  pair  who  seated  themselves  by  the  table. 

Phil  had  slipped  off  the  damp  coat,  and  his 
arm  in  its  striped  linen  sleeve  was  thrown 
around  his  mother's  shoulders. 

The  visitor's  eyes  filled  with  something  like 
envy.  Kathleen  and  Edgar  were  her  step- 
children, the  boy  had  been  five  years  of  age 
when  she  began  to  be,  to  use  her  own  declara- 
tion, the  best  stepmother  in  the  world.  Edgar 
would  never  think  of  reading  his  letters  with 
her  in  this  frankly  affectionate  attitude.  Must 
one  live  on  a  mountain-top,  she  wondered,  to 
win  the  sort  of  look  she  had  seen  in  this  son's 
eyes? 

"I've  been  showing  your  Aunt  Isabel  your 
sketches,  Phil,"  said  Mrs.  Sidney,  holding  open 
a  letter  they  had  just  read.  "I  told  her  about 
the  Denver  paper.  This  is  another  offer  from 
them,  Isabel,  an  increased  offer." 

"I'm  sure  that's  very  flattering,"  returned 
Mrs.  Fabian. 

Phil  did  not  speak.  His  straight  brows  were 
knit  in  perplexity,  and  his  lips  were  set  in  the 
look  of  longing  that  his  mother  knew. 

"I  don't  know  this  writing  from  New  York," 
said  Mrs.  Sidney,  opening  the  next  letter. 

19 


The  Inner  Flame 

Glancing  over  it  she  gave  a  startled  ex- 
clamation. 

"Whew!"  breathed  the  boy,  reading  over  her 
shoulder.  "  Poor  Aunt  Mary ! " 

"Isabel,  Aunt  Mary  has  gone!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Sidney. 

"What!  I  did  n't  know  she  was  ill.  She 
was  n't  ill.  Who  is  there  to  attend  to  things? 
Who  wrote  you  ? " 

"Eliza  Brewster.  This  is  from  her.  It  was 
very  sudden.  She  had  been  at  work  at  her  easel 
an  hour  before.  How  sad  it  seems !  How  lonely ! 
I  wish  we  had  both  been  there,  Isabel.  There  is 
the  letter."  Phil  took  it  across  to  Mrs.  Fabian. 
"You  see.  She  was  buried  day  before  yester- 
day. Oh,  I'm  glad  we  had  that  little  inter- 
change in  the  summer.  Eliza  loves  her,  but, 
after  all,  she  is  not  her  own." 

Phil  mechanically  opened  another  letter.  His 
thoughts  were  with  that  unknown  relative  with 
cravings  like  to  his,  working  through  the  gath- 
ering years  toward  a  goal  which  had  ever  re- 
treated before  her.  He  unfolded  a  business 
letter.  It  enclosed  a  small  sealed  envelope 
addressed  to  himself  in  another  handwrit- 
ing. 

"Aunt  Mary's!"  said  his  mother.  The  son's 
20 


A  November  Night 

arm  was  again  around  her  as  with  heads  close 
together  they  perused  the  following:  — 

MY  DEAR  GRAND-NEPHEW,  PHILIP  SIDNEY:  — 
When  you  open  this  letter,  I  shall  have  gone 
to  a  world  where  surely  I  shall  be  permitted  to 
come  nearer  to  the  source  of  beauty. 

My  family  all  consider  me  a  failure.  I  know 
it.  They  have  laughed  at  my  poor  efforts.  I 
know  it;  but  since  your  mother  wrote  to  me  a 
month  ago,  sending  me  your  sketches  and  tell- 
ing me  your  longings,  I  have  felt  that  out  in  the 
free  Western  country,  there  lives  one  with  my 
blood  in  his  veins,  who  will  understand  the 
thirst  that  has  led  me  on,  and  nerved  me  to  un- 
tiring effort  —  that  has  made  it  my  only  hope 
of  happiness  to  live  as  I  have  lived,  and  work  as 
I  have  worked.  He  will  also  understand,  per- 
haps, that  few  as  my  rewards  have  been,  I  have 
occasionally  felt  that  some  beauty  has  crept 
through  my  brain  and  been  fixed  to  the  canvas, 
and  that  such  moments  have  given  me  the 
highest  bliss  this  world  could  bestow. 

For  a  month,  then,  I  have  taken  comfort  in 
my  artist-boy,  no  matter  if  you  are  known  to 
others  as  an  engineer.  I  have  kept  on  my  easel 
the  photograph  your  mother  sent  me,  and  every 

21 


The  Inner  Flame 

day  while  I  work,  I  look  from  time  to  time  into 
your  eyes,  your  mother's  lovely  eyes.  I  rejoice 
in  your  thick  hair,  and  your  splendid  chin  and 
firm,  full-curved  mouth.  It  is  n't  often  that  a 
head  wanders  from  the  Louvre  and  becomes 
set  on  a  pair  of  modern  shoulders.  I,  the  old 
woman,  peering  through  her  spectacles,  and 
painting  with  a  hand  that  is  often  far  from 
steady,  have  found  a  joy  in  studying  the  har- 
mony of  your  promise.  You  have  my  blood  in 
your  veins,  but  you  will  succeed  where  I  have 
failed.  A  happy  failure,  Philip.  Don't  feel  sad 
for  me.  I  Ve  had  moments  of  joy  that  no  one 
knew.  No  one  took  the  trouble  to  know;  but 
nobody  is  to  blame.  Lives  are  very  full  in  these 
rushing  days.  . 

I  believe  in  you,  and  I  long  for  you  to  get 
started  toward  that  land  where  you  fain  would 
be.  Your  mother  says  that  the  door  has  n't 
opened  yet.  Looking  into  your  young  eyes,  a 
great  thought  came  to  me.  Supposing  I,  the 
ineffectual,  could  set  that  door  ajar!  With  the 
thought  came  the  first  great  regret  for  my  pov- 
erty. Never  mind,  thought  I  stoutly;  if  I  can 
set  that  door  a  wee  bit  open,  his  young  strength 
can  do  the  rest! 

I  have  had  warnings  that  soon  the  great  door 
22 


A  November  Night 

will  be  opened  for  me;  the  door  that  ushers  in  to 
the  heart's  desire.  Mine  has  been  for  Truth 
and  Beauty,  O  God,  Thou  knowest! 

So  I  am  making  my  will  —  such  a  poor  little 
short  will;  but  all  for  you,  my  kindred  spirit, 
my  knight  who  will  deliver  from  failure,  my 
Philip  Sidney. 

The  faithful  maid  Eliza  will  take  care  of  my 
effects  for  you.  You  will  find  some  useful  things 
among  the  paraphernalia  here.  I  look  at  my 
old  easel  and  wonder  if  it  will  ever  be  promoted 
to  hold  a  canvas  of  yours. 

This  letter  will  be  enclosed  to  you  in  one  from 
my  lawyer,  telling  you  the  business  side  of  my 
wishes.  The  heart  side  no  one  can  tell.  I  swell 
with  longing  for  your  success,  and  happiness ; 
and  so  good-bye. 

The  mother  who  never  had  a  son,  gains  one 
in  you.  The  painter  who  never  was  an  artist, 
becomes  one  in  you ! 

And  so,  dear,  I  am  your  happy 

AUNT  MARY. 

Mary  Sidney  and  her  boy  exchanged  a  look. 
With  unsteady  hands  Phil  straightened  the 
legal  letter,  and  they  read  it  together.  Then 
they  rose  from  the  table  with  one  accord. 

23 


The  Inner  Flame 

Mrs.  Fabian,  wrapped  in  thought,  looked  up 
at  the  sudden  movement. 

Phil's  concentrated  gaze  went  past  her  to  the 
fire,  and  he  stood  motionless,  one  hand  leaning 
on  the  table,  the  other  arm  around  his  mother. 
Mary  Sidney  clasped  the  rustling  paper  to  her 
breast.  All  the  self-forgetfulness  of  mother-love 
shone  in  her  wet  eyes  as  she  met  Mrs.  Fabian's 
questioning  look. 

"Isabel,  I  told  you  it  would  come,"  she  said. 
"  I  told  you  we  should  know.  The  light  is  here. 
Phil  is  going  to  New  York." 


CHAPTER  II 

SEVERED   COMPANIONSHIP 

ELIZA  BREWSTER  could  count  on  the  fingers  of 
one  hand  the  number  of  times  that  tears  had 
escaped  her  pale  eyes.  She  had  always  felt  for 
those  who  wept  easily,  the  same  leniency  with- 
out comprehension  that  she  entertained  for 
women  who  fainted. 

Trials  had  come  and  gone  in  her  life;  but 
never,  since  the  day  when  she  discovered  some 
boys  maltreating  her  cat,  had  she  shed  such 
tears  as  flowed  now  in  her  sorrow.  The  cat's 
abbreviated  tail  bore  witness  still  to  that  day's 
conflict,  but  both  his  wound  and  hers  had 
healed. 

When  would  this  new  wound  cease  to  ache 
and  palpitate!  Each  day  there  in  the  lonely 
flat,  Eliza  Brewster  renewed  war  with  the  mem- 
ories to  which  she  had  no  mind  to  succumb. 
The  gentleness  of  her  mistress,  her  innocent, 
ever-springing  hope,  her  constant  disappoint- 
ments, the  solitariness  of  her  narrow  life,  the 
neglect  of  her  relatives  —  all  these  things  re- 

25 


The  Inner  Flame 

curred  to  the  faithful  handmaiden  with  the 
terrific  appeal  which  contracts  the  newly  bereft 
heart,  causing  it  to  bleed  afresh.  Mary  Ballard, 
in  spite  of  her  twenty  years'  greater  age,  had 
been  child  as  well  as  mistress  to  the  faithful 
woman,  who  cared  for  the  quiet,  shy  dreamer 
of  dreams  through  the  twenty-five  years  of  the 
latter's  widowhood. 

Now  Eliza's  occupation  was  gone.  All  her 
rather  hard  philosophy,  all  her  habitual  self- 
possession,  was  swamped  in  a  world  where  she 
could  no  longer  call  her  dear  one  from  the  easel 
to  her  meals ;  and  where  the  rooms  of  the  little 
apartment  grew  spacious  and  echoed  from  sheer 
emptiness. 

Mrs.  Ballard  had  bequeathed  her  maid  all  her 
clothing,  and  all  her  personal  possessions,  save 
one  old-fashioned  diamond  brooch,  which  was 
to  be  sent  to  her  namesake,  Mary  Sidney.  Some 
weeks  before  her  death,  she  told  Eliza  of  the  dis- 
position of  her  effects.  In  referring  to  the  small 
gift  of  money  which  was  to  be  hers,  she  said : — 

"I  wish  it  were  more,  Eliza,  but,"  looking 
wistfully  into  the  eyes  of  her  companion,  "I 
have  a  great  mission  for  my  little  capital  as  I 
have  told  you.  If  only  the  amount  were  as  great 
as  the  object!" 

26 


Severed  Companionship 

"Nonsense,  talking  about  wills,"  rejoined 
Eliza  brusquely,  a  new  delicacy  in  the  loved 
face  making  her  tone  sharp,  "more  likely  I'll 
be  leaving  something  to  you;  though  I  don't 
know  what  it  would  be,  unless  't  was  the  cat." 

Mrs.  Ballard  smiled.  "Not  a  bad  legacy," 
she  replied.  "Pluto  is  very  sympathetic.  He 
likes  to  watch  me  paint.  He  has  really  con- 
cluded to  endure  the  smell  of  oil  and  turpentine 
just  to  keep  me  company." 

At  the  moment  the  night-black  cat  was  lift- 
ing green  eyes  of  approval  to  his  own  portrait 
which  stood  near,  and  Mrs.  Ballard  buried  a 
veined  hand  in  his  glossy  fur.  A  few  weeks  later 
that  hand  was  still.  Oh,  the  dear  garments  with 
the  outline  of  the  wearer  still  warm  in  their 
curves!  Who  has  not  known  the  tender,  over- 
powering anguish  of  their  touch?  Every  day 
Eliza  tried  to  systematize  and  pack  her  new 
belongings,  and  every  day  she  postponed  the 
ordeal  until  to-morrow. 

Mrs.  Ballard's  watch  alone  stood  on  the  table 
at  the  head  of  her  bed,  hanging  in  the  little 
satin  slipper  just  as  it  had  ticked  beside  her 
mistress's  sleeping  form  so  many  years.  The 
watch  seemed  as  alive  as  Pluto,  and  almost  as 
much  of  a  companion.  It  spoke  eloquently  of 

27 


The  Inner  Flame 

the  gentle  being  who  had  always  been  uncon- 
scious of  its  warnings. 

On  the  mantelpiece  in  the  living-room,  which 
had  been  studio  as  well,  was  Philip  Sidney's 
photograph  and  his  two  sketches,  one  of  his 
mother,  and  one  of  a  storm-beaten  tree.  They 
were  the  two  that  Mary  Sidney  had  sent  in 
response  to  her  aunt's  gift  in  the  summer-time. 
All  three  pictures  were  turned  now  to  the  wall. 
Mrs.  Sidney  was  a  relative.  That  stamped  her 
for  Eliza.  The  sketches  had  been  either  the 
vainglorious  gift  of  a  fond  mamma,  or  else 
prompted  by  hope  of  the  very  result  they  had 
gained.  As  for  the  photograph  of  the  artist, 
Eliza  could  not  deny  that  it  had  marvellously 
cheered  and  companioned  the  last  months  of 
her  dear  one's  life. 

Indeed,  in  those  days,  recent  yet  already 
seeming  so  long  pact,  Eliza,  out  in  her  kitchen, 
had  often  laughed  grimly  to  herself  at  the  in- 
fatuation for  the  picture  shown  by  her  mis- 
tress. 

"  If  she  was  sixteen  she  could  n't  be  more 
head  over  heels  in  love,"  she  would  soliloquize. 
"I  s'pose  an  artist  has  got  to  be  just  so  stirred 
up  by  good  looks,  whether  it's  a  landscape  or  a 
human;  but  I  know  I  would  n't  trust  a  hand- 

28 


Severed  Companionship 

some  man  around  the  corner  with  a  dog's 
dinner." 

In  pursuance  of  these  reflections,  when  her 
mistress  had  gone,  Phil's  picture  went  with  the 
sketches,  his  face  to  the  wall. 

Eliza's  attitude  toward  the  whole  world  was 
defiance  on  the  subject  of  her  mistress's  life- 
work.  Of  course,  Mrs.  Ballard  was  an  artist;  a 
great  artist.  Eliza  knew  it  must  be  so,  there 
were  so  many  of  her  pictures  that  she  could  not 
understand. 

.  A  canvas  which  was  a  blur  to  her  contained 
so  much  which  the  painter  would  explain  while 
Eliza  stood  devotedly  by,  dutifully  assenting  to 
the  unravelling  of  the  snarl  of  form  and  color. 

"You  don't  care  for  it,  do  you,  Eliza?"  the 
artist  would  say  sometimes,  wistfully. 

"Indeed,  I  do,  Mrs.  Ballard,"  would  come 
the  response,  and  never  words  rang  more 
prompt  and  true.  "  I  'm  just  one  o'  those  folks 
so  practical,  I  can't  see  an  inch  before  my  nose 
and  I've  never  had  advantages.  I  have  n't  got 
any  insight,  as  you  call  it,  beyond  a  dishpan; 
but  when  you  explain  it  so  clear,  that's  when  I 
begin  to  see." 

This  latter  was  a  loyal  lie;  as  a  rule,  Eliza 
never  did  see;  but  she  applauded  just  the  same 

29 


The  Inner  Flame 

with  vague  murmurs  of  wonder  and  admiration. 

It  hurt  the  faithful  soul  even  now  to  recall 
how,  when  the  sketches  came  from  the  West, 
her  mistress  had  eagerly  examined  them,  and 
bitten  her  lip,  her  eyes  glistening.  "There's  the 
true  touch,  Eliza,"  she  had  said  quietly.  "This 
boy  has  a  spark  of  the  divine  fire." 

"Pooh!  I  don't  think  so  at  all,"  Eliza  had 
returned  stoutly  and  contemptuously.  "Of 
course,  that  drawin'  of  his  mother  is  pleasant 
enough,  but  you  have  n't  seen  her  in  years. 
You  don't  know  how  good  the  likeness  is;  and 
as  for  that  landscape,  that  rough  twisted  tree 
most  blown  off  its  feet  and  clouds  racin'  above 
those  rocks,  nobody 'd  ever  think  they  was  any- 
thing except  just  what  they  are,  a  tree  and  rocks 
and  clouds;  awful  pokerish,  I  call  it,  not  a  bit 
pretty."  Eliza's  long  nose  lifted  in  scorn. 

Mrs.  Ballard  smiled  and  bowed  her  head  over 
the  wind-blown  tree. 

"My  flesh  and  blood,  still,"  she  murmured. 

Now,  in  the  dreary  days,  Eliza  moved  about 
aimlessly,  forgetting  to  eat,  and  roused  only  by 
Pluto's  indignant  meows,  to  remember  that, 
though  he  might  mourn,  still  he  felt  that  he 
owed  it  to  himself  to  keep  his  coat  glossy  by 
milk  baths,  taken  internally. 

30 


Severed  Companionship 

Never  had  he  known  such  long  luxurious  naps 
in  the  lap  of  his  mistress  as  now.  Wrapped  in 
thought  she  sat  for  hours  without  moving;  the 
irrepressible  tears  welling  up  from  her  heart  and 
creeping,  one  by  one,  down  her  thin  cheeks. 

She  had  made  no  friends  in  the  cheap  apart- 
ment building  where  they  lived.  It  was  a  chang- 
ing population,  which  ebbed  and  flowed  at  the 
mercy  of  its  own  financial  tide. 

"There  ain't  a  lady  in  this  house  except  you," 
Eliza  had  been  wont  to  say  to  her  mistress. 

"I  don't  believe  we  know  that,"  Mrs.  Ballard 
had  rejoined;  "but  we're  too  busy  for  neigh- 
boring, are  n't  we,  Eliza?" 

Whenever  there  had  been  any  leisure,  Mrs. 
Ballard  had  taken  her  handmaiden  to  the 
Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art. 

Not  for  worlds  would  Eliza  mar  the  joy  with 
which  her  mistress  bestowed  upon  her  this 
treat.  So  she  climbed  endless  stairs,  and 
plodded  weary  miles  with  fortitude,  having 
ready  a  response  to  every  worshipful  utterance 
with  which  Mrs.  Ballard  pointed  out  this  and 
that  marvel. 

"Wonderful,  ain't  it!"  Eliza  would  respond 
with  the  regularity  of  clockwork. 

"How  I  love  to  get  you  out  of  that  kitchen, 


The  Inner  Flame 

Eliza,  up  into  this  atmosphere  of  genius!"  her 
mistress  would  say,  in  a  burst  of  affection  for 
the  strong  mainspring  of  her  household. 

"Wonderful,  ain't  it!"  returned  the  benefici- 
ary, stepping  on  the  other  foot  in  the  effort  to 
rest  one  leg. 

1  The  sight  of  the  very  exterior  of  the  great 
repository  of  art-treasures  caused  Eliza's  bones 
to  ache,  if  she  caught  sight  of  the  imposing  pile 
from  a  car  window. 

One  day,  however,  all  this  was  changed.  The 
Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art  rose  in  Eliza's 
estimation  to  the  level  of  her  own  kitchen  where 
a  chromo  depicting  kittens  in  various  attitudes 
of  abandon  hung  over  the  table. 

Mistress  and  maid  were  doing  the  well-worn 
circuit.  The  faithful  echo  had  repeated  "Won- 
derful, ain't  it!"  for  the  twentieth  time.  The 
ardor  in  Mrs.  Ballard's  eyes  was  lending  wings 
to  her  slender  body,  but  Eliza  had  lagged, 
spurred  on,  and  rested  the  other  leg,  until,  to 
paraphrase  a  bit  from  Mr.  Lowell  — 

"  On  which  leg  she  felt  the  worse, 
She  could  n't  V  told  you,  'nother,"  — 

when  suddenly  an  inspiration  of  deliverance 
seized  her.  The  fact  that  it  had  not  seized  her 

32 


Severed  Companionship 

months  before  was  simply  another  proof  of  de- 
votion to  the  sun  of  her  existence.  Each  time 
she  entered  the  massive  gates  to  her  place  of 
torture,  she  left  such  mentality  as  she  possessed 
behind  her.  As  well  might  a  fish  be  expected 
to  navigate  in  the  free  air  of  heaven  as  Eliza 
in  these  marble  halls.  This  was  her  mistress's 
element.  Let  her  guide.  But  one  memorable 
day  the  two  were  standing  before  a  marine. 

"Oh,  Eliza,  that's  new!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Ballard;  and  from  the  vigor  of  her  tone,  her 
handmaid  feared  the  worst.  She  had  believed 
they  were  nearly  ready  to  depart.  Now  her 
companion  seemed  inspired  for  another  two 
hours. 

"Might  it  not  have  been  painted  from  your 
island,"  continued  Mrs.  Ballard.  "What  ador- 
able work!" 

"Wonderful,  ain't  it! "came  Eliza's  wooden 
accents. 

"What  feeling!"  murmured  her  rapt  com- 
panion. 

"  I  only  hope  't  ain't  sciatica,"  thought 
Eliza,  wiggling  her  hip.  Her  casually  roving  eye 
caught  sight  of  one  vacancy  on  the  bench  in  the 
middle  of  the  room. 

"Don't  you  want  to  sit  down  a  spell  and  look 
33 


The  Inner  Flame 

at  it,  Mrs.  Ballard?"  she  asked.  "There's  a 
place." 

"No,"  was  the  slow,  absent  reply.  "I  seem 
to  prefer  to  stand  in  its  presence  —  a  royal 
presence,  Eliza." 

Miss  Brewster  waited  no  longer.  With  incon- 
tinent haste  she  limped,  as  in  seven-league 
boots,  toward  the  desired  haven.  She  saw  that 
a  portly  gentleman  was  heading  for  the  same 
spot.  She  sprinted.  She  beat  him  by  a  toe's 
length,  and  nearly  received  him  on  her  maiden 
lap.  He  recovered  himself  and  glared  at  her. 
She  maintained  an  unconscious  air,  her  gaze 
fixed  on  the  sky  of  the  marine  painting.  It  was 
all  she  could  see ;  there  were  so  many  standing 
in  front  of  her,  welcoming  this  new  treasure  to 
the  home  of  beauty. 

Presently  Mrs.  Ballard,  missing  her  shadow, 
looked  about  and  at  last  descried  Eliza.  She 
approached,  her  small,  veined  hands  clasped  on 
her  breast  for  joy. 

"  It  seems  as  if  it  must  have  been  done  from 
the  island!"  she  exclaimed.  "How  can  you  sit 
down,  Eliza !  I  should  think  it  would  take  you 
straight  to  your  old  home!" 

Miss  Brewster  did  not  say  that  she  thought 
there  was  more  likelihood  of  her  again  seeing 

34 


Severed  Companionship 

her  native  place  if  she  did  sit  down;  but  for 
once  her  clockwork  did  not  act.  It  seemed  as  if 
the  succumbing  of  her  legs  had  impeded  the 
other  mechanism. 

"I  just  felt  as  if  I  had  to,  Mrs.  Ballard,"  she 
answered  numbly. 

"You  dear!"  exclaimed  her  mistress  impul- 
sively, speaking  low.  "I  might  have  known  it. 
You  felt  overcome.  I  don't  wonder.  It  took  me 
back  to  the  island,  too,  in  a  flash!  I  dare  say 
you  often  conceal  homesickness  from  me,  Eliza. 
We  must  try  to  go  there  next  summer!  I  did 
use  to  think  that  perhaps  Mrs.  Fabian  —  but, 
no  matter;  we  can  go  on  our  own  account, 
Eliza,  and  we  will,  too." 

"  It  would  be  lots  better  for  you  than  staying 
here  in  summer,  that's  sure." 

Mrs.  Ballard  sighed,  "Yes,  if  only  the  rent 
did  n't  keep  on,  and  keep  on." 

Eliza  knew  the  arguments.  She  did  not  pur- 
sue the  subject  now.  She  rose,  keeping  firm 
pressure,  however,  against  the  bench. 

"Take  this  place,  Mrs.  Ballard,  and  rest  a 
minute." 

"Oh,  I  'm  not  a  bit  tired.  I  thought  we  'd  take 
one  or  two  more  rooms.  The  light  is  wonderful 
to-day." 

35 


The  Inner  Flame 

Up  to  the  present  moment  Eliza  in  this  tem- 
ple of  genius  had,  as  has  been  said,  galvanized 
her  energies  and  followed  where  her  mistress  led, 
at  any  cost,  as  unquestioningly  as  the  needle 
follows  the  magnet;  but  this  was  the  moment 
of  her  emancipation.  Mrs.  Ballard  herself  gave 
her  the  cue,  for  she  added  with  consideration 
for  an  unwonted  sentiment :  — 

"Unless  you'd  rather  stay  and  look  at  that 
reminder  of  home  a  while  longer,  Eliza?  I'll 
come  back  for  you." 

"Oh,  would  you,  just  as  soon,  Mrs.  Ballard?" 

The  eagerness  of  the  tone  touched  her  mis- 
tress. 

"Why,  of  course,  my  dear,  do  so;  but  I'd  get 
up  if  I  were  you."  Eliza  had  sunk  back  upon 
the  bench  with  the  certainty  and  impact  of  a 
pile-driver.  "There  is  such  a  crowd  you  can't 
see  anything  from  here  but  the  sky." 

"I  feel  as  if  I  could  look  at  that  sky  for  a 
week,"  responded  Eliza  with  a  sincerity  which 
admitted  of  no  doubt. 

"It  is  wonderful,  isn't  it?"  returned  her 
mistress,  unconscious  of  plagiarism.  She  patted 
Eliza's  shoulder.  "I'll  be  back  soon,"  she  as- 
sured her,  and  moved  away. 

"The  good  creature!"  she  thought.    "How 

36 


Severed  Companionship 

selfish  I  have  been  to  her!  I  ought  occasionally 
to  let  her  go  home;  but  I  know  she'd  never 
go  without  me.  She  would  n't  believe  that  I  'd 
eat  three  meals  a  day,  no  matter  how  faith- 
fully I  promised."  And  Mrs.  Ballard  laughed 
a  little  before  becoming  engrossed  in  an  old 
favorite. 

She  was  gone  so  long  that  Eliza  cogitated 
with  newly  acquired  ingenuity. 

"It's  a  good  thing,"  she  reflected,  "that  the 
fool-catcher  ain't  artistic.  He'd  'a'  caught  me 
here  lots  o'  times.  Supposin'  I  was  with  that 
dear  crazy  critter  all  this  time,  hoppin'  along 
in  misery,  or  standin'  in  front  o'  some  paintin' 
like  a  stork."  Eliza's  light  eyes  twinkled. 
"Why  should  n't  I  set  up  a  taste  in  pictures, 
too?  Just  watch  me  from  this  on." 

After  this  day  Mrs.  Ballard  did  observe  with 
joy  a  transformation  in  her  handmaid's  atti- 
tude. When  they  visited  the  galleries  Eliza 
would  move  along  with  her  usual  calm  until 
suddenly  some  picture  would  particularly  hold 
her  attention. 

"Is  that  a  very  fine  paintin'?"  she  would  ask 
of  her  cicerone. 

"  Which  one,  Eliza  ?  Oh,  yes,  I  see.  Certainly, 
or  it  would  n't  be  here;  but  in  that  next  room 

37 


The  Inner  Flame 

are  those  I  thought  we  should  make  a  study  of 
to-day." 

Eliza's  light  eyes  swept  the  unbroken  pol- 
ished surface  of  the  floor  of  the  adjoining  room. 
"I  know  I  have  n't  got  very  far  along  in  under- 
standin'  these  things,"  she  said  modestly,  "but 
to  my  eyes  there  is  a  certain  somethin'  there," 
—  she  paused  and  let  her  transfixed  gaze  to- 
ward the  chosen  picture  say  the  rest. 

Mrs.  Ballard  held  her  lip  between  her  teeth 
reflectively  as  she  looked  at  it  too.  On  that  first 
occasion  it  was  a  summer  landscape  painted  at 
sunset. 

"We  've  passed  it  many  times,"  she  thought, 
"but  it's  evident  that  Eliza  is  waking  up!" 

The  reflection  was  exultant.  Far  be  it  from 
Mrs.  Ballard  to  interrupt  the  birth  throes  of  her 
companion's  artistic  consciousness. 

"Then  stay  right  here,  Eliza,  as  long  as  you 
wish,"  she  replied  sympathetically.  "  I  shall  be 
nearby." 

She  hurried  away  in  her  light-footed  fashion, 
and  Eliza  continued  to  stand  before  her  cyno- 
sure long  enough  to  disarm  possible  suspicion, 
and  then  backed  thoughtfully  away  until  she 
reached  a  bench  upon  which  she  sank,  still  with 
eyes  upon  the  picture. 

38 


Severed  Companionship 

Mrs.  Ballard  from  the  next  room  observed  her 
trance. 

"She  is  waking  up.  Her  eyes  are  opening, 
bless  her  heart,"  she  thought.  "Constant 
dropping  does  wear  the  stone." 

Eliza  would  have  paraphrased  the  proverb 
and  declared  that  constant  dropping  saves  the 
life. 

From  this  day  on  she  professed,  and  trium- 
phantly acted  upon,  an  appreciation  for  certain 
pictures;  and  Mrs.  Ballard  marvelled  with 
pride  at  the  catholicity  of  her  taste;  for  such 
serpentine  wisdom  did  Eliza  display  in  passing, 
unseeing,  many  an  inviting  bench,  that  never, 
to  their  last  pilgrimage  to  Mrs.  Ballard's  mecca, 
did  the  latter  suspect  the  source  of  her  com- 
panion's modest  enthusiasm. 

"Poor  thing,"  thought  Eliza  during  these 
periods  of  rest;  "it's  a  sin  and  a  shame  that  she 
has  n't  got  anybody  worthy  to  come  with  her. 
If  those  relatives  of  hers  were,  any  of  'em,  fit  to 
live,  one  of  'em  would  bring  her  here  sometimes. 
The  poor  dear,  as  long  as  she  has  n't  a  soul  but 
an  ignorant  country  body  like  me  to  sympa- 
thize with  her,  I've  got  to  do  my  best;  and 
really  if  I  set  a  spell  once  in  a  while,  I  '11  have 
more  sprawl  and  can  seem  to  enjoy  it  more. 

39 


The  Inner  Flame 

It's  awful  hard  when  you  can't  think  of  any- 
thing but  your  joints !  I  'm  younger  'n  she  is, 
and  I'm  ashamed  o'  gettin'  so  tuckered;  but 
she's  got  some  kind  o'  wings  that  seem  to  lift 
her  along." 

Mrs.  Ballard,  from  the  next  room,  caught 
Eliza's  eye,  smiled,  and  nodded,  well  pleased. 
So  the  era  of  peace  ensued;  and  when  Miss 
Brewster  caught  sight  from  a  street  car  of  the 
Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art,  she  was  able  to 
regard  it  without  a  frown. 


CHAPTER  III 

MRS.  FABIAN'S  VISIT 

ELIZA  was  not  obliged  to  give  up  the  apartment 
until  the  end  of  the  month.  Hence  her  drifting 
from  day  to  day,  and  Pluto's  naps  in  the  lap  of 
luxury. 

All  her  energy  and  systematic  habits  were  in 
a  state  of  suspension.  Her  clocks  ran  down. 
The  watch  in  the  tiny  satin  slipper  beside  her 
bed  alone  ticked  the  minutes  away,  and  when 
Eliza  wound  it  her  eyes  were  too  wet  to  see  the 
time.  Night  fell  and  she  went  to  bed.  Morning 
dawned  and  she  arose.  She  drank  tea,  but  it 
was  too  much  trouble  to  eat. 

One  day  the  bell  rang.  At  first  she  deter- 
mined not  to  answer  it.  Then  second  thought 
came  to  her.  What  was  she  waiting  here  for 
except  to  answer  the  bell  ?  Was  her  next  duty 
not  to  introduce  the  usurper  into  his  kingdom 
—  to  give  into  his  desecrating  hands  those 
objects,  —  easel,  palette,  brushes,  paints,  — 
hallowed  by  her  dear  one's  use?  At  the  sound 
of  a  knock  she  hastened  to  fling  open  the  door. 

41 


The  Inner  Flame 

Mrs.   Fabian,   elegantly  gowned   and  furred, 
stood  before  her. 

Eliza  gazed  at  this  apparition  dumb. 

"Why,  Eliza  Brewster,"  exclaimed  the  vis- 
itor with  concern,  "I  scarcely  knew  you." 
After  the  mutual  gaze  of  astonishment  the 
caller  moved  in  with  her  air  of  stately  assur- 
ance, and  Eliza  followed  her  perforce  into  the 
living-room.  Here  Mrs.  Fabian  swiftly  ex- 
amined the  possibilities  of  the  scanty  chairs, 
then  seated  herself  in  the  largest. 

"You  have  been  ill,  too,  Eliza?  You  look 
like  a  ghost!" 

The  gaunt  woman  in  the  alpaca  dress,  so 
filled  with  resentment  that  she  begrudged  her 
own  tears  because  they  informed  this  "  relative" 
of  her  grief,  stood  in  silence  with  a  beating 
heart. 

"  Sit  down,  you  poor  creature,"  went  on  Mrs. 
Fabian,  unsuspecting  hidden  fires. 

They  burned  higher  at  the  tone  of  patronage, 
but  Eliza,  weakened  from  mourning  and  lack  of 
food,  felt  her  knees  trembling  and  sank  into  the 
nearest  chair. 

Mrs.  Fabian,  genuinely  touched  by  the 
ravages  she  saw,  broke  the  silence  that  fol- 
lowed. 

42 


Mrs.  Fabian's  Visit 

"I  was  greatly  surprised  and  shocked  to  hear 
of  Aunt  Mary's  sudden  going." 

She  began  to  feel  uncomfortable  under  the 
set  gaze  of  Eliza's  swollen  eyes. 

"  I  suppose  you  sent  to  my  house  at  once,  and 
found  that  Mr.  Fabian  and  I  were  in  the  far 
West." 

"No,  I  did  n't  think  of  sending,"  returned 
Eliza. 

"You  should  have  done  so.  Surely  there  was 
no  one  nearer  to  Aunt  Mary  than  I." 

"It  was  in  the  paper,"  said  Eliza  dully. 

"Had  I  been  here  I  should,  of  course,  have 
taken  charge  of  the  funeral." 

The  pale  eyes  emitted  a  curious  light. 

"No,  you  would  n't,  Mrs.  Fabian,"  was  the 
quiet  reply. 

"Why  do  you  say  that  ? " 

"Because  the  time  for  you  to  have  done 
something  for  Mrs.  Ballard  was  while  she  was 
alive." 

Eliza  was  too  spent  physically  to  speak  other 
than  softly,  but  her  words  brought  the  amazed 
color  to  her  visitor's  face. 

"You  are  presuming,"  Mrs.  Fabian  said, 
after  a  moment.  "What  do  you  know  about 
it?  I  suppose  Aunt  Mary  did  not  think  it 

43 


The  Inner  Flame 

worth  while  to  tell  you  all  the  things  I  did  for 
her." 

"No,"  agreed  Eliza,  "she  never  said  a  word 
about  the  times  you  came  with  your  automo- 
bile to  take  her  riding;  nor  the  picture  exhibi- 
tions you  took  her  to  see,  or  the  way  you  had 
her  to  dinner  Thanksgivin'  time  and  other 
times,  or  how  you  had  her  to  spend  part  o'  the 
summer  with  you  at  the  island,  or — " 

"Eliza  Brewster,  what  does  this  mean ! "  Mrs. 
Fabian's  eyes  were  dilated.  "Aunt  Mary  was 
not  related  to  my  husband  or  to  his  children. 
I  never  expected  him  to  marry  my  family." 

Miss  Brewster's  gaze  was  fixed  upon  the 
speaker  with  pale  scorn,  but  the  latter  contin- 
ued with  what  she  endeavored  to  make  a  digni- 
fied defence.  "I  always  sent  Aunt  Mary  a 
present  at  Christmas." 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Eliza.  "Last  season 
'twas  a  paper-cutter.  You  gave  her  cuts 
enough  without  that." 

"And  I  called  upon  her  at  intervals,"  con- 
tinued the  visitor  in  a  heightened  tone  to  drown 
the  small  voice. 

"Intervals  of  a  year,"  said  Eliza. 

Mrs.  Fabian  started  to  rise,  but  bethought 
herself,  and  sank  back. 

44 


Mrs.  Fabian's  Visit 

"You  are  impertinent,"  she  said  coldly.  "A 
person  in  your  position  cannot  understand  the 
duties  of  one  in  mine.  There  can  be  no  discus- 
sion between  you  and  me."  The  speaker  stirred 
in  her  chair  and  collected  herself.  "I  —  and 
every  one  of  Aunt  Mary's  relatives  —  appreci- 
ate your  faithful  service  to  her,  and  thank  you 
for  it." 

"Don't  you  dare!"  ejaculated  Eliza,  with 
such  sudden  belligerency  that  Mrs.  Fabian 
started. 

"You  're  almost  crazed  with  fatigue  and  grief, 
poor  creature,"  she  said  at  last.  "I  can  see  that 
you  are  scarcely  responsible  for  what  you  say 
to-day.  You  must  take  a  long  rest.  Shall  you 
go  home  to  the  island  or  take  another  place  in 
town  ?  I  can  find  you  one." 
1  Mrs.  Fabian  felt  the  superiority  of  her  own 
self-control  as  she  made  this  kind  offer;  besides, 
in  these  troublous  days  with  servants,  steady, 
reliable  Eliza,  with  a  sure  touch  in  cookery,  was 
not  to  be  despised.  The  visitor  accompanied 
her  offer  with  a  soothing  attempt  at  a  smile. 

Eliza  had  relapsed  into  dullness.  "I  won't 
trouble  you,"  she  said. 

•    "It  would  not  be  any  trouble,"  was  the 
magnanimous  reply.    "Just  let  me  know  any 

45 


The  Inner  Flame 

time  when  you  would  like  a  reference,  Eliza.  It 
will  give  me  pleasure  to  reward  your  faithful- 


ness." 


Mrs.  Fabian  loved  approval  quite  as  much  as 
she  did  admiration.  She  would  feel  much  more 
comfortable  to  win  that  of  even  this  uncom- 
promising, cranky  individual,  so  lined  with  the 
signs  of  suffering.  As  Eliza  Brewster  was  a 
native  of  the  island  where  Mrs.  Fabian  had 
resorted  from  the  days  of  her  girlhood,  she  had 
a  very  slight  but  old  acquaintance  with  this 
woman.  As  she  glanced  at  the  thin  hair,  now 
fast  turning  grey,  the  sunken  eyes  and  cheeks, 
and  the  bony,  roughened  hands,  she  shuddered 
beneath  her  ermine-lined  sables,  to  remember 
that  she  and  Eliza  Brewster  were  about  the 
same  age.  She  passed  a  white-gloved  hand  over 
the  firm  contour  of  her  smooth  cheek  as  if  to 
make  sure  of  its  firmness.  "I  believe  it  was  I 
who  recommended  you  to  Aunt  Mary  in  the 
first  place,  long  ago,"  she  added. 

"That's  one  o'  your  mistakes,"  said  Eliza 
drily. 

"On  the  contrary,"  returned  Mrs.  Fabian 
graciously.  She  was  determined  to  warm  this 
forlorn  specimen  of  New  England  frigidity  into 
something  humanly  companionable,  else  how 


Mrs.  Fabian's  Visit 

was  she  going  to  attain  the  object  of  her  visit? 
She  went  on  with  such  flattery  of  manner  as  she 
might  have  employed  toward  a  desirable  de- 
butante. "It  has  proved  quite  the  best  thing 
that  I  ever  did  for  Aunt  Mary;  securing  her 
comfort  and  thereby  the  peace  of  mind  of  all 
who  belonged  to  her.  Don't  call  it  a  mistake, 
Eliza." 

"However  that  may  be,"  returned  the  other 
immovably,  "  't  wa'n't  you  that  did  it.  'T  was 
your  Cousin  Mary." 

"Oh  —  was  it  ?  Oh,  indeed  ? "  responded  Mrs. 
Fabian,  slipping  back  her  furs  still  further. 
Eliza  Brewster's  disagreeable  manner  was  mak- 
ing her  nervous.  "Yes,  I  believe  Mrs.  Sidney 
was  with  us  on  her  wedding-trip  just  at  that 
time.  Mr.  Fabian  and  I  have  just  returned 
from  visiting  Mrs.  Sidney  out  in  her  wild 
mountain  home." 

Eliza's  eyes  roved  involuntarily  to  two  blank 
sheets  of  board  standing  on  the  mantelpiece; 
but  she  was  silent. 

"Do  you  know  the  contents  of  Aunt  Mary's 
will,  Eliza?"  asked  Mrs.  Fabian,  after  waiting 
vainly  for  an  inquiry  as  to  her  cousin's  well- 
being. 

"I  do." 

47 


The  Inner  Flame 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"That  don't  matter,  does  it?" 

A  streak  of  light  illumined  Mrs.  Fabian's 
annoyance.  Ah,  that  was  what  was  the  matter 
with  Eliza.  After  twenty-five  years  of  faithful 
service,  she  had  expected  to  inherit  her  mis- 
tress's few  hundreds.  Full  explanation,  this,  of 
the  present  sullenness.  The  disappointment 
must,  indeed,  have  been  bitter. 

Mrs.  Fabian  felt  an  impulse  of  genuine  sym- 
pathy. She  knew  the  singular  loneliness  of 
Eliza's  situation;  knew  that  she  had  no  near 
kin,  and  the  transplanting  from  the  island  home 
had  been  complete.  What  an  outlook  now,  was 
Eliza  Brewster's! 

"Perhaps  the  will  was  as  much  of  a  surprise 
to  you  as  it  was  to  the  rest  of  us,"  Mrs.  Fabian 
went  on.  "The  Sidneys  were  amazed.  They 
did  n't  tell  me  just  how  much  Aunt  Mary  left 
young  Mr.  Sidney.  Do  you  know?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Eliza  promptly. 

And  again  Mrs.  Fabian  looked  at  her  inter- 
rogatively. As  well  question  the  Sphinx.  She 
comprehended  the  stony  closing  of  the  thin  lips. 
There  might  be  a  combination  which  would 
make  them  open,  but  she  did  not  have  it.  She 
shrugged  her  fine-cloth  shoulders.  "Oh,  well, 


Mrs.  Fabian's  Visit 

it  does  n't  matter.  It  must  have  been  very 
little,  anyway." 

t  She  sighed.  She  must  get  at  her  business, 
though  she  dreaded  absurdly  to  introduce  it. 
"Well,  Eliza,  if  you  will  take  me  to  Aunt 
Mary's  room,  I  will  go  through  her  belongings. 
It  is  always  the  most  painful  duty  connected 
with  a  death,  but  it  cannot  be  escaped." 

Eliza  stared  at  her,  speechless. 

"Aunt  Mary  had  a  few  very  nice  things," 
went  on  Mrs.  Fabian.  She  tried  to  smile  as  at 
a  loving  memory.  "The  regulation  treasures  of 
a  dear  old  lady,  —  her  diamond  ring,  a  diamond 
brooch,  and  a  camel's  hair  shawl —  My 
heavens!"  cried  the  visitor,  interrupting  herself 
suddenly  with  a  shriek  of  terror.  "Take  it 
away!  Take  it  away!" 

She  clung  to  the  back  of  her  chair;  for  Pluto, 
silent  as  a  shadow,  had  sprung  upon  the  ends  of 
her  pelerine  as  they  lay  in  her  lap  and  was 
daintily  nosing  the  fur,  while  perilously  grasp- 
ing its  richness,  his  eyes  glowing  with  excite- 
ment. Eliza  rose,  and  sweeping  him  into  one 
arm  resumed  her  seat. 

"Oh,  how  that  frightened  me!"  Mrs.  Fabian 
panted  and  looked  angrily  at  the  animal  with 
the  jetty  coat  and  abbreviated  tail,  whose  eyes, 

49 


The  Inner  Flame 

live  emeralds,  expanded  and  contracted  as  they 
glowed  still  upon  the  coveted  fur. 

If  she  expected  an  apology,  none  came. 
Eliza's  pale  face  showed  no  emotion.  Endur- 
ance was  written  in  every  line. 

"To' be  interrupted  at  such  a  critical  mo- 
ment!" Mrs.  Fabian  felt  it  was  unbearable. 

"Let  me  see"  —  she  began  again  with  a 
little  laugh.  "Your  pet  knocked  everything 
out  of  my  head,  Eliza.  Oh,  yes,  I  was  saying 
that  I  will  look  over  Aunt  Mary's  things 


now." 


She  rose  as  she  spoke.  Eliza  kept  her  seat. 

"You  can't  do  that,  Mrs.  Fabian." 

"I  certainly  shall,  Eliza  Brewster.  What  do 
you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  they're  mine.  She  left  'em  all 
to  me." 

The  speaker  struggled  to  control  the  trem- 
bling of  her  lips. 

The  visitor  looked  the  limp  black  alpaca 
figure  over,  haughtily. 

"Aunt  Mary  left  you  her  diamond  ring,  her 
diamond  brooch,  and  her  camel's  hair  shawl?" 
she  asked  sceptically. 

"She  left  her  diamond  brooch  to  her  name- 
sake, Mrs.  Sidney.  I  sent  it  to  her  a  week  ago." 

50  ' 


Mrs.  Fabian's  Visit 

"Then,  since  you  know  Aunt  Mary's  wishes, 
what  did  she  leave  me?  The  ring?" 

"No,  ma'am!" 

"The  shawl?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

Mrs.  Fabian's  nostrils  dilated. 

"My  aunt's  poor  trifles  are  nothing  to  me,  of 
course,  except  for  sentiment's  sake,"  she  said 
haughtily. 

Eliza  bowed  her  bitter  face  over  Pluto's  fur. 

"I  am  quite  sure,  however,  that  she  did  not 
pass  away  without  some  mention  of  me, —  her 
sister's  child." 

"She  did,  though,  Mrs.  Fabian.  If  it's  a 
keepsake  you  want,"  added  Eliza  drily,  "you 
may  have  the  paper-cutter.  It's  never  been 
out  o'  the  box." 

The  visitor,  still  standing,  eyed  the  other 
with  compressed  lips  before  she  spoke :  — 

"I  have  told  you  that  I  don't  consider  you 
responsible  to-day.  You  are  half-crazed,  and 
I'm  sorry  for  you.  Answer  me  this,  however, 
and  mind,  I  shall  verify  your  words  by  a  visit  to 
Mrs.  Ballard's  lawyer.  Did  my  aunt  leave  you, 
legally,  all  her  personal  possessions?" 

"She  did." 

Mrs.  Fabian  maintained  another  space  of 


The  Inner  Flame 

silence,  gazing  at  the  seated  figure,  whose  gown 
looked  rusty  behind  the  polished  lynx-black 
pressed  against  it.  There  was  no  mistaking  the 
truth  in  the  pale,  wretched  eyes. 

"Disappointed  about  the  money,  though, 
and  taking  out  her  ill  temper  on  me,"  thought 
the  visitor. 

To  Eliza's  increased  heaviness  of  heart,  the 
lady  resumed  her  seat. 

"Aunt  Mary's  death  was  sudden  and  unex- 
pected and  that  explains  her  not  speaking  of 
me,"  she  said;  "but  I  know  it  would  please 
her  that  I  should  use  something  that  she  had 
owned.  I  remember  that  shawl  as  being  a  very 
good  one.  It  came  to  her  from  some  of 
her  husband's  people.  I'll  buy  that  of  you, 
Eliza." 

"Will  you?"  returned  the  other,  and  Pluto 
emitted  an  indignant  yowl  and  tried  to  leap 
from  the  tightening  hold. 

"Don't  you  let  him  go,  Eliza!"  cried  Mrs. 
Fabian  in  a  panic.  "He's  crazy  about  my  fur. 
They  always  are.  —  Yes,  the  shawl  is  of  no  use 
to  you  and  the  money  will  be.  It  is  so  fine,  it 
would  be  wicked  to  cut  it  into  a  wrap.  I  shall 
spread  it  on  my  grand  piano." 

Silence,  while  Eliza  struggled  still  to  control 
52 


Mrs.  Fabian's  Visit 

the  trembling  lips,  and  Pluto  twisted  to  escape 
her  imprisoning  arm. 

"I'm  willing  to  give  you  twenty-five  dollars 
for  that  shawl." 

Mrs.  Fabian  waited,  and  presently  Eliza 
spoke : — 

"It  ain't  enough,"  she  said,  against  her 
impeding  breath. 

"Fifty,  then.  We  all  feel  grateful  to  you." 

"Mrs.  Fabian,"  Eliza  sat  up  in  her  chair  as  if 
galvanized  and  looked  her  visitor  in  the  eyes, 
while  she  spoke  with  unsteady  solemnity,  "the 
price  o'  that  shawl  is  one  million  dollars." 

The  visitor  stared  at  the  shabby  figure  with 
the  grey,  unkempt  locks,  then  shrugged  her 
shoulders  with  a  smile.  "You'll  come  to  your 
senses,  Eliza,"  she  said.  "Some  day  that  fifty 
dollars  will  look  very  good  to  you.  I  '11  hold  the 
offer  open — " 

"Likewise,"  added  Eliza,  breaking  in  upon 
her  words  with  heightened  voice,  but  the  same 
deliberation,  "that  is  the  price  of  each  handker- 
chief she  left  me,  and  each  one  of  her  little, 
wornout  slippers,  and  her  — " 

She  could  get  no  further.  She  choked.  Mrs.Fa- 
bian  rose;  Pluto,  with  another  cry  and  a  supreme 
writhe,  tore  himself  from  his  iron  prison. 

53 


The  Inner  Flame 

The  visitor  shuddered,  and  looked  at  him 
fearfully,  as  his  eager  eyes  seemed  to  threaten 
her.  She  hastened  precipitately  toward  the 
door. 

Eliza,  putting  the  utmost  constraint  upon 
herself,  rose  and  ushered  her  out. 

Mrs.  Fabian  uttered  a  brief  good-bye.  Eliza 
was  beyond  speech. 

While  the  visitor  entered  her  waiting  car, 
and  sank  with  relief  among  its  cushions,  the 
mourner  stood,  her  back  against  the  closed 
door,  and  her  eyes  closed. 

Restrained  drops  ran  down  her  cheeks  in 
well-worn  ruts,  and  occasionally  a  spasmodic 
sob  shook  the  slight  form. 

Pluto  came  to  her  feet,  his  short  tail  stiffly 
outstretched  and  his  half-closed  eyes  lifted  to 
the  sightless  face.  In  the  long  silence  he  rubbed 
himself  against  her  feet  in  token  of  forgiveness. 


CHAPTER  IV 

PHILIP   SIDNEY 

THE  Fabians  had  given  Philip  Sidney  a  pressing 
invitation  to  spend  his  first  week  in  New  York 
with  them.  When  he  arrived,  however,  and 
announced  himself  at  the  house,  through  some 
misunderstanding  there  was  no  one  there  to 
receive  him  save  the  servants. 

A  comely  maid  apologized  for  the  absence  of 
her  mistress,  saying  that  Mr.  Sidney  had  not 
been  expected  until  the  following  day;  and 
showing  him  to  his  room  she  left  him  to  his  own 
devices. 

Emerging  from  his  bath  and  toilet,  he  found 
Mrs.  Fabian  not  yet  returned.  It  was  but 
four  o'clock,  and  he  decided  to  go  to  the 
Ballard  apartment  and  attend  to  his  errand 
there. 

Eliza  had  been  doing  some  sweeping,  the 
need  for  it  goading  her  New  England  conscience 
to  action.  Her  brown  calico  dress  was  pinned 
up  over  her  petticoat,  and  her  stern,  lined  face 
looked  out  from  a  sweeping-cap. 

55 


The  Inner  Flame 

There  sounded  suddenly  a  vigorous  knock  on 
her  door. 

She  scowled.  "Some  fresh  agent,  I  s'pose," 
she  thought.  "Too  sly  to  speak  up  the  tube." 

Broom  in  hand,  she  strode  to  the  door  and 
pulled  it  open  with  swift  indignation. 

"Why  didn't  you  ring?"  she  exclaimed 
fiercely.  "We  don't  want  — " 

She  paused,  her  mouth  open,  and  stared  at 
the  young  man  who  pulled  off  a  soft  felt  hat, 
and  looked  reassuring  and  breezy  as  he  smiled. 

"  I  did  ring,  but  it  was  the  wrong  apartment. 
There  was  no  card  downstairs,  so  I  started  up 
the  trail.  Is  this  Mrs.  Ballard's?" 

The  frank  face,  which  she  instantly  recog- 
nized, and  the  clear  voice  that  had  a  non- 
citified  deliberation,  accused  Eliza  of  lack  of 
hospitality;  and  she  suddenly  grew  intensely 
conscious  of  her  cap  and  petticoat. 

"Come  in,"  she  said.  "I  was  doin'  some 
sweepin'.  The  first — "  she  paused  abruptly 
and  led  the  way  down  the  corridor  to  the 
shabby  living-room. 

Phil's  long  steps  followed  her  while  his  eyes 
shone  with  appreciation  of  the  drum-major 
effect  of  the  cap  and  broom,  and  the  memory  of 
his  fierce  greeting. 


Philip  Sidney 

"I  don't  wonder  Aunt  Mary  died,"  he 
thought.  "I  would  too." 

Meanwhile  Eliza's  heart  was  thumping.  This 
interview  was  the  climax  of  all  she  had  dreaded. 
The  usurper  had  an  even  more  manly  and  at- 
tractive exterior  than  she  had  expected,  but 
well  she  knew  the  brutal  indifference  of  youth; 
the  selfishness  that  takes  all  things  for  granted, 
and  that  secretly  despises  the  treasures  of  the 
old. 

The  haste  with  which  she  set  the  broom  in 
the  corner,  unpinned  her  dress,  and  pulled  off 
her  cap,  was  tribute  to  the  virile  masculinity 
of  the  visitor;  but  the  stony  expression  of  her 
face  was  defence  from  the  blows  which  she 
felt  he  would  deliver  with  the  same  airy  un- 
consciousness that  showed  in  the  swing  of  his 
walk. 

"You're  Eliza  Brewster,  I'm  sure,"  he  said. 
"My  mother  knew  you  when  she  was  a  girl." 

The  hasty  removal  of  Eliza's  cap  had  caused 
a  weird  flying-out  of  her  locks.  The  direct  gaze 
bent  upon  her  twinkled. 

"I  wonder  if  she'd  let  me  paint  her  as 
Medusa,"  he  was  thinking;  while  her  unspoken 
comment  was :  "  And  she  never  saw  his 
teeth!  It's  just  as  well." 

57 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Yes,  that  's  who  I  am,"  she  said.  "  Sit  down, 
Mr.  Sidney.  I've  been  expectin'  you." 

"You  did  n't  behave  that  way,"  he  replied 
good-naturedly,  obeying.  "  I  thought  at  first  I 
was  going  downstairs  quicker  than  I  came  up, 
and  I  'd  taken  them  three  at  a  time." 

His  manner  was  disarming  and  Eliza 
smoothed  her  flying  locks. 

"The  agents  try  to  sneak  around  the  rules  o' 
the  house,"  she  said  briefly. 

"So  this  is  where  Aunt  Mary  lived."  He 
looked  about  the  room  with  interest.  "We 
people  in  God's  country  hear  about  these  flats 
where  you  don't  dare  keep  a  dog  for  fear  it'll 
wag  its  tail  and  knock  something  over." 

The  troublesome  lump  in  Eliza's  throat  had 
to  be  swallowed,  so  the  visitor's  keen  glance 
swept  about  the  bare  place  in  silence. 

"  I  see  she  did  n't  go  in  much  for  jim-cracks," 
he  added  presently. 

Eliza's  lump  was  swallowed.  "Mrs.  Ballard 
did  n't  care  for  common  things,"  she  said 
coldly.  "She  was  an  artist." 

Phil  comprehended  vaguely  that  rebuke  was 
implied,  and  he  met  the  hard  gaze  as  he  hast- 
ened to  reply :  — 

"Yes,  yes,  I  understand."  An  increase  of  the 
58 


Philip  Sidney 

pathos  he  had  always  discerned  since  learning 
about  his  great-aunt,  swept  over  him  now,  face 
to  face  with  the  meagreness  of  her  surroundings. 
"Did  Aunt  Mary  work  in  this  room?  I  see  an 
easel  over  there." 

"Yes,  she  worked  here."  The  reply  came  in 
an  expressionless  voice. 

"Poor  Aunt  Mary!"  thought  the  visitor. 
"  No  companion  but  this  image ! " 

Eliza  exerted  heroic  self-control  as  she  con- 
tinued: "I've  got  the  things  packed  up  for  you 
—  the  paints,  and  brushes,  and  palette.  The 
easel's  yours,  too.  Do  you  want  to  take  'em 
to-day?" 

"Would  it  be  a  convenience  to  you  if  I  did? 
Are  you  going  to  give  up  the  flat  immediately  ? " 

"In  a  week." 

"Then  I  '11  leave  them  a  few  days  if  you  don't 
mind  while  I  'm  looking  for  a  room.  I  have  n't 
an  idea  where  to  go.  I  'm  more  lost  here  than  I 
ever  was  in  the  woods;  but  the  Fabians  will 
advise  me,  perhaps.  Mrs.  Fabian  has  been  here 
to  see  you,  I  suppose." 

Eliza's  thin  lips  parted  in  a  monosyllable  of 
assent. 

"What  a  wooden  Indian!"  thought  Phil. 
Nevertheless,  being  a  genial  soul  and  having 

59 


The  Inner  Flame 

heard  Miss  Brewster's  faithfulness  extolled,  he 
talked  on:  "We  hear  about  New  York  streets 
being  canyons.  They  are  that,  and  the  sky-line 
is  amazing ;  but  the  noise,  —  great  heavens, 
what  a  racket!  and  I  can't  seem  to  get  a 
breath." 

The  young  fellow  rose  restlessly,  throwing 
back  his  shoulders,  and  paced  the  little  room, 
filling  it  with  his  mountain  stride. 

Eliza  Brewster  watched  him.  She  thought  of 
her  mistress,  and  the  pride  and  joy  it  would 
have  been  to  her  to  receive  this  six  feet  of  man- 
hood under  her  roof. 

"  She  would  n't  'a'  kept  her  sentimental 
dreams  long,"  reflected  Eliza  bitterly.  "He'd 
'a'  hurt  her,  he'd  'a'  stepped  on  her  feelin's  and 
never  known  it.  He  walks  as  if  he  had  spurs  on 
his  boots."  She  steeled  herself  against  consid- 
ering him  through  Mrs.  Ballard's  eyes.  "He's 
better-lookin'  than  the  picture,"  she  thought, 
"  and  I  would  n't  trust  a  handsome  man  as  far 
as  I  could  see  him.  They  have  n't  any  business 
with  beauty  and  it  always  upsets  'em  one  way 
or  another  —  yes,  every  time." 

Her  eyes  wandered  to  the  mantelpiece  whose 
bareness  was  relieved  only  by  three  varying 
sized  pieces  of  blank  paper.  She  felt  the  slight- 

60 


Philip  Sidney 

est  quiver  of  remorse  as  she  looked.  She  seemed 
to  see  her  mistress's  gentle  glance  filled  with 
rebuke. 

She  stirred  in  her  chair,  folded  her  arms,  and 
cleared  her  throat. 

"You  can  leave  the  things  here  till  I  go,  if 
you  want  to,"  she  said. 

Phil  paused  in  his  promenade  and  regarded 
her.  Her  manner  was  so  unmistakably  inimical 
that  for  the  first  time  he  wondered. 
1 .  Perhaps,  after  all,  she  was  not  just  a  machine. 
And  the  same  thought  which  had  been  enter- 
tained by  Mrs.  Fabian  occurred  to  him. 

"Twenty-five  years  of  faithful  service,"  he 
reflected.  "  I  wonder  if  she  expected  the  money  ? 
She's  sore  at  me.  That's  a  cinch." 

Phil's  artist  nature  grasped  her  standpoint  in 
a  flash.  The  granite  face,  with  its  signs  of  suffer- 
ing, the  loneliness,  the  poverty,  all  appealed  to 
him  to  excuse  her  disappointment. 

His  eyes  swept  about  the  bare  walls. 

"Where  are  Aunt  Mary's  pictures?"  he 
asked.  "Was  she  too  modest  to  hang  them?" 

"There  were  some  up  there,"  replied  Eliza. 
"I  took 'em  down." 

The  visitor's  quick  eyes  noted  the  white 
boards  on  the  mantelpiece.  With  an  unex- 

61 


The  Inner  Flame 

pected  movement,  he  strode  across  to  it,  and 
turned  them  around. 

He  stood  in  the  same  position  for  a  space. 

"Great  guns,  but  she  hates  me!"  he  thought, 
while  Eliza,  startled,  felt  the  shamed  color 
stream  up  to  her  temples. 

"What  would  Mrs.  Ballard  say!"  was  her 
guilty  reflection. 

Pluto  here  relieved  the  situation  by  making  a 
majestic  entrance.  His  jewel  eyes  fixed  on  the 
stranger  for  a  moment  with  blinking  indiffer- 
ence, then  he  proceeded,  with  measured  tread, 
toward  the  haven  of  his  mistress's  lap. 

"Hello,  Katze,"  said  Phil,  stooping  his  scar- 
let face.  He  seized  the  creature  by  the  nape  of 
its  neck  and  instantly  the  amazed  cat  was 
swung  up  to  his  broad  shoulder,  where  it  sat, 
claws  digging  into  his  coat  and  eyes  glowering 
into  his  own. 

"  Say,  charcoal  would  make  a  white  mark  on 
you,  pussy,"  he  went  on,  smoothing  the  crea- 
ture in  a  manner  which  evidently  found  favor, 
for  Pluto  did  not  offer  to  stir. 

"When  I'm  not  doing  her  as  Medusa,"  he 
reflected,  "I'll  paint  her  as  a  witch  with  this 
familiar.  She'll  only  have  to  look  at  the  artist 
to  get  the  right  expression." 

62 


Philip  Sidney 

"A  distinguished  visitor  from  the  island  of 
Manx,  I  suspect,"  he  said  aloud. 

"No,"  returned  Eliza,  still  fearfully  embar- 
rassed. "Pluto  was  born  right  here  in  New 
York." 

The  ever-ready  stars  in  the  visitor's  eyes 
twinkled  again  into  the  green  fire  opposite  them. 

"It  was  his  tail  I  was  noticing.  Manx  cats 
are  like  that." 

"Oh,  that  was  boys.  If  I  could  V  caught 
'em  I'd  'a'  liked  to  cut  off  their  arms." 

"I'll  bet  on  that,"  thought  Phil,  "and  their 
legs  too." 

Eliza  cleared  her  throat.  She  seemed  still  to 
see  the  gentle  eyes  of  her  lost  one  rebuking  her. 
With  utter  disregard  of  a  future  state  she  was 
preparing  a  lie. 

"About  those  sketches,"  she  said  presently, 
and  such  was  her  hoarseness  that  she  was 
obliged  to  clear  her  throat  again,  "you  see, 
I  was  —  sweepin',  and  I  turned  'em  to  the 
wall." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Phil,  and  continued  to 
smooth  Pluto  who  purred  lustily.  "A  pretty 
good  one  for  New  England,"  he  thought;  and 
carelessly  turning  the  third  card  about,  he  came 
face  to  face  with  his  own  photograph. 

63 


The  Inner  Flame 

With  one  glance  of  disgust  he  tore  the  picture 
in  two  and  threw  it  down. 

Eliza  started.  "What  did  you  do  that  for?" 
she  demanded  sharply. 

Phil  made  a  motion  of  impatience. 

"Oh,  it's  so  darned  pretty!"  he  explained. 
"I  thought  all  those  pictures  were  in  the  fire." 

"Mrs.  Ballard  set  great  store  by  that,"  said 
Eliza  coldly,  "and  by  the  sketches,  too,"  she 
added. 

She  was  sitting  up  stiffly  in  her  chair,  now, 
and  her  gaze  fixed  on  Phil,  as,  her  cat  on  his 
shoulder  singing  loud  praise  of  his  fondling 
hand,  he  came  and  stood  before  her. 

"I  wish  you'd  let  me  see  some  of  Aunt 
Mary's  pictures,"  he  said. 

The  dead  woman's  letter  was  against  his 
heart.  He  felt  that  they  were  standing  to- 
gether, opposed  to  the  hard,  grudging  face 
confronting  him. 

But  this  was  Eliza's  crucial  moment.  In  spite 
of  herself  she  feared  in  the  depths  of  her  heart 
that  that  which  Mrs.  Ballard  had  said  was  true; 
that  this  restless,  careless  boy  had  an  artistic 
ability  which  her  dear  one  had  never  attained. 
She  shrank  with  actual  nausea  from  his  com- 
ments on  her  mistress's  work.  He  might  not 


Philip  Sidney 

say  anything  unkind,  but  she  should  see  the 
lines  of  his  mouth,  the  quiver  of  an  eyelash. 

She  felt  unable  to  rise. 

"She  left  'em  all  to  me,"  she  said-mechanic- 
ally,  pale  eyes  meeting  dark  ones. 

Phil  brushed  Pluto's  ears  and  the  cat  sang 
through  the  indignity. 

"Talk  about  the  bark  on  a  tree!"  he 
thought.  "I  believe  I'll  paint  her  as  a  miser, 
after  all!  She'd  be  a  wonder,  with  Pluto  stand- 
ing guard,  green  eyes  peering  out  of  the 
shadow." 

He  smiled  down  at  Eliza,  the  curves  of  his 
lips  stretching  over  the  teeth  she  had  admired. 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "I'm  not  going  to  take 
them  away  from  you." 

Eliza  forced  herself  to  her  feet,  and  without 
another  word  slowly  left  the  room. 

Phil  met  the  cat's  blinking  eyes  where  the 
pupils  were  dilating  and  contracting.  "Katze, 
this  place  gives  me  the  horrors!"  he  confided. 

More  than  once  on  the  train  he  had  read  over 
his  aunt's  letter,  and  each  time  her  words  smote 
an  answering  chord  in  his  heart  and  set  it  to 
aching. 

The  present  visit  accentuated  the  perception 
of  what  her  life  had  been.  For  a  moment  his 

65 


The  Inner  Flame 

eyes  glistened  wet  against  the  cat's  indolent 
contentment. 

"I  wish  she  hadn't  saved  any  money,  the 
poor  little  thing,"  he  muttered.  "No  friends,  no 
sympathy  — '  nothing  but  that  avaricious  piece 
of  humanity,  calculating  every  day,  probably, 
on  how  soon  she  would  get  it  all.  I  '11  paint  her 
as  a  harpy.  That's  what  I'll  do.  Talons  of 
steel!  That's  all  she  needs."  He  heard  a  sound 
and  dashed  a  hand  across  his  eyes. 

Eliza,  heavy  of  heart,  stony  of  face,  entered, 
a  number  of  pictures  bound  together,  in  her 
hands.  The  visitor  darted  forward  to  relieve 
her,  and  Pluto  drove  claws  into  his  suddenly 
unsteady  resting-place. 

Eliza  yielded  up  her  treasures  like  victims, 
and  stood  motionless  while  Phil  received  them. 
Never  had  she  looked  so  gaunt  and  grey  and 
old;  but  the  visitor  did  not  give  her  a  glance. 
Aunt  Mary's  letter  was  beating  against  his 
heart.  Here  was  the  work  her  longing  hands 
had  wrought,  here  the  thwarting  of  her  hopes. 

His  fingers  were  not  quite  steady  as  he  untied 
the  strings,  and  moving  the  easel  into  a  good 
light  placed  a  canvas  upon  it. 

Eliza  did  not  wish  to  look  at  him,  but  she 
could  not  help  it.  Her  pale  gaze  fixed  on 

66 


Philip  Sidney 

his  face  in  a  torture  of  expectation,  as  he 
backed  away  from  the  easel,  his  eyes  on  the 
picture. 

Pluto  rubbed  against  his  ear  as  a  hint  that 
caressing  be  renewed. 

He  stood  in  silence,  and  Eliza  could  detect 
nothing  like  a  smile  on  his  face. 

Presently  he  removed  the  canvas,  and  took 
up  another.  It  was  the  portrait  of  Pluto. 

"Hello,  Katze.  Got  your  picture  took,  did 
you  ?  Aunt  Mary  saw  your  green  shadows  all 
right." 

He  set  the  canvas  aside,  and  took  up  another. 
Eliza's  muscles  ached  with  tension.  Her  bony 
hands  clasped  as  she  recognized  the  picture. 
To  the  kittens  over  the  table  in  the  kitchen  she 
had  once  confided  that  this  landscape,  which 
the  artist  had  called  "Autumn,"  looked  to  her 
eyes  like  nothing  on  earth  but  a  prairie  fire! 
It  had  been  a  terrible  moment  of  heresy.  She 
was  punished  for  it  now. 

Phil  backed  away  from  the  canvas,  and  elbow 
in  his  hand,  rested  his  finger  on  his  lips  for 
what  seemed  to  Eliza  an  age.  Her  heart 
thumped,  but  she  could  not  remove  her  gaze 
from  him. 

Pluto,  finding  squirming  and  rubbing  of  no 


The  Inner  Flame 

avail,  leaped  to  the  floor  and  blinked  reflec- 
tively at  his  mistress.  A  flagpole  would  have 
offered  equal  facilities  for  cuddling. 

He  therefore  made  deliberate  selection  of  the 
least  unsatisfactory  chair,  and  with  noiseless 
grace  took  possession. 

Phil  nodded.  "Yes,  sir,"  he  murmured;  "yes, 


sir." 


Eliza's  teeth  bit  tighter  on  her  suffering  under 
lip.  What  did  "Yes,  sir"  mean?  At  least  he 
was  not  smiling. 

He  went  on,  slightly  nodding,  and  thinking 
aloud ;  "Aunt  Mary  was  ahead  of  her  time.  She 
knew  what  she  was  after." 

Eliza  tried  to  speak,  and  could  n't.  Some- 
thing clicked  in  her  throat. 

Phil  went  on  regarding  the  autumnal  tangle, 
and  with  a  superhuman  effort  Eliza  commanded 
her  tongue. 

"What  was  that  you  said,  Mr.  Sidney?" 

Phil,  again  becoming-  conscious  of  the  stony 
presence,  smiled  a  little. 

"Aunt  Mary  would  have  found  sympathizers 
in  Munich,"  he  said. 

"That's  Germany,  ain't  it?"  said  Eliza, 
words  and  breath  interlocking. 

"Yes.  Most  of  Uncle  Sam's  relatives  want  to 
68 


Philip  Sidney 

see  plainer  what's  doing;  at  least  those  who  are 
able  to  buy  pictures." 

"Ahead  of  her  time ! "  gasped  Eliza,  her  blood 
racing  through  her  veins.  "Ought  to  'a'  been 
in  Germany  1" 

And  then  the  most  amazing  occurrence  of 
Philip  Sidney's  life  took  place.  There  was  a 
rush  toward  him,  and  suddenly  his  Medusa, 
his  witch,  his  miser,  his  harpy  was  on  her  knees 
on  the  floor  beside  him,  covering  his  hand  with 
tears  and  kisses,  and  pouring  out  a  torrent  of 
words. 

"I've  nearly  died  with  dread  of  you,  Mr. 
Sidney.  Oh,  why  is  n't  she  here  to  hear  you  say 
those  words  of  her  pictures !  Nobody  was  ever 
kind  to  her.  Her  relations  paid  no  more  atten- 
tion to  her,  or  her  work,  than  if  she'd  been  a  — 
a  —  I  don't  know  what.  She  was  poor,  and  too 
modest,  and  the  best  and  sweetest  creature  on 
earth;  and  when  your  sketches  came  she  ad- 
mired 'em  so  that  I  began  to  hate  you  then. 
Yes,  Mr.  Sidney,  you  was  a  relative,  and  goin' 
to  be  a  success,  and  the  look  in  her  eyes  when 
she  saw  your  work  killed  me.  It  killed  me!" 

"Do,  do  get  up,"  said  Philip,  trying  to  raise 
her.  "Don't  weep  so,  Eliza.  I  understand." 

But  the  torrent  could  not  yet  be  stemmed. 

69 


The  Inner  Flame 

"I've  looked  forward  to  your  comin'  like  to 
an  operation.  I've  thought  you  might  laugh  at 
her  pictures,  'cause  young  folks  are  so  cruel, 
and  they  don't  know!  Let  me  cry,  Mr.  Sidney. 
Don't  mind !  You  've  given  me  the  first  happy 
moment  I  Ve  known  since  she  left  me.  I  was  the 
only  one  she  had,  even  to  go  to  picture  galleries 
with  her,  and  my  bones  ached  'cause  I  was  a 
stupid  thing,  and  she  had  wings  just  like  a  little 
spirit  o' light." 

Philip's  lashes  were  moist  again. 

"  I  wish  I  had  been  here  to  go  with  her,"  he 
said. 

Eliza  lifted  her  streaming  eyes.  "Would  you 
'a*  gone?"  she  asked,  and  allowed  Phil  to  raise 
her  gently  to  her  feet. 

"Indeed,  I  would,"  he  answered  gravely, 
"and  we  should  have  lived  together,  and 
worked  together." 

"Oh,  why  couldn't  it  'a'  been!  Why 
could  n't  it  'a'  been!  What  it  would  'a'  meant 
to  her  to  have  heard  what  you  said  just  now 
about  her  pictures ! " 

Phil's  hands  were  holding  Eliza's  thin  shoul- 
ders, and  her  famished  eyes  were  drinking  in  the 
comfort  of  him. 

"I  have  an  idea  that  we  ought  not  to  believe 
70 


Philip  Sidney 

that  we  could  make  her  happier  than  she  is,"  he 
said,  with  the  same  gravity. 

"I  know,"  faltered  Eliza,  surprised;  "of 
course  that's  the  way  I  ought  to  feel;  but  there 
was  n't  ever  anything  she  cared  much  about 
except  paintin'.  She"  —  Eliza  swallowed  the 
tremulous  sob  that  was  the  aftermath  of  the 
storm  —  "  she  loved  music,  but  she  was  n't  a 
performer." 

Phil  smiled  into  the  appealing  face. 

"Then  she's  painting,  for  all  we  know,"  he 
said.  "Do  you  believe  music  is  all  that  goes  on 
there?" 

"It's  all  that's  mentioned,"  said  Eliza 
apologetically. 

"  I  have  an  idea  that  dying  does  n't  change 
us  any,"  said  the  young  man.  "Why  should 
It?" 

"It  did  n't  need  to  change  her,"  agreed  the 
other,  her  voice  breaking. 

"I  believe  that  in  the  end  we  get  what  we 
want." 

"That's  comfortin'." 

"Not  so  you'd  notice  it,"  returned  Phil  with 
conviction.  "It  makes  the  chills  run  down  my 
spine  occasionally  when  I  stop  to  realize  it." 

"What  do  you  mean  ? " 

71 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Only  that  we  had  better  examine  what 
we're  wanting;  and  choose  something  that 
won't  go  back  on  us.  Aunt  Mary  did;  and  I 
believe  she  had  a  strong  faith." 

"We  never  talked  religion,"  said  Eliza. 

"Just  lived  it.  That's  better." 

"I  did  n't,"  returned  Eliza,'a  spark  of  the  old 
belligerency  flashing  in  her  faded  eyes.  "  I  can't 
think  of  one  single  enemy  that  I  love!" 

"You  were  everything  to  Aunt  Mary.  Do 
you  suppose  I  shall  ever  forget  that?" 

"  I  sat  down  in  front  o'  those  pictures  in  the 
Metropolitan  Museum,"  said  Eliza,  her  lips 
trembling  again.  "It's  awful  big,  and  I  got  so 
tuckered,  the  pictures  sort  o'  ran  together  till 
I  did  n't  know  a  landscape  from  a  portrait. 
Then  I  used  to  take  on  over  somethin'  that  had 
a  seat  in  front  of  it,  and  she  'd  leave  me  sittin* 
there  starin'.  Oh,  Mr.  Sidney,  I  can't  think  o' 
one  other  mean  thing  I  ever  did  to  her,"  —  re- 
morseful grief  shook  the  speaker's  voice,  — 
"but  I'd  ought  to  'a'  stood  up  to  the  end.  It 
would  'a'  showed  more  interest!" 

Phil  squeezed  the  spare  shoulders  as  they 
heaved.  He  laughed  a  little. 

"Now,  Eliza,  whatever  way  you  managed  it, 
I  know  you  made  her  happy." 

72 


Philip  Sidney 

"Yes,"  groaned  the  repentant  one,  "she  said 
my  artistic  soul  was  wakin'  up.  Do  you  s'pose 
where  she  is  now  she  knows  it  was  black 
deceit?" 

"She  knows  nothing  black  where  she  is,"  — 
Phil's  voice  rang  with  decision;  "but  she  does 
know  more  than  ever  about  love  and  sacrifice 
such  as  you  have  shown  her.  Beside,"  in  a 
lighter  tone,  "how  about  your  artistic  soul ?  See 
how  far  above  everybody  else  you  understood 
her  pictures." 

Eliza's  hungry  gaze  became  suddenly  in- 
scrutable. "Mr.  Sidney,"  she  began,  after  a 
pause,  "I  loved  every  stroke  her  dear  hand 
made,  but"  —  again  pain  crept  into  the  break- 
ing voice — "you  said  yourself  America  was  n't 
worthy  of  her,  and  I'm  only  what  you  might 
call  the  scum  of  America  when  it  comes  to 
insight  and  —  and  expression  and  —  and  at- 
mosphere. Usually  I  had  sense  enough  to  wait 
till  she  told  me  what  a  thing  was  before  I  talked 
about  it;  but  one  day,  I  can't  ever  forget  it,  I 
praised  a  flock  o'  sheep  at  the  back  of  a  field 
she  was  doin'  and  she  said  they  was  —  was 
cows!" 

Sobs  rent  the  speaker  and  she  covered  her 
eyes. 

73 


The  Inner  Flame 

"I  told  her —  'twas  my  glasses,"  she  went 
on  when  she  could  speak.  "I  —  told  her  they 
—  had  n't  been  right  for  —  a  long  time.  She 
laughed  —  and  tried  to  make  a  joke  of  it, 
but  —  " 

Eliza's  voice  was  drowned  in  the  flood. 

Phil  patted  her  shoulders  and  smiled  across 
the  bowed  head  at  the  forlorn  mantelpiece, 
where  the  sketches,  unconscious  of  forgiveness, 
still  turned  faces  toward  the  wall. 

"You've  grown  awfully  morbid,  alone  here," 
he  said,  giving  her  a  little  shake.  "You  should 
be  only  thankful,  as  I  am,  that  Aunt  Mary  had 
you  and  that  you  were  here  to  take  care  of  her 
to  the  end.  Come  and  sit  down.  She  wrote  me  a 
wonderful  letter.  I  have  it  in  my  pocket  and 
I'll  show  it  to  you." 

Eliza  obediently  yielded  herself  to  be  guided 
to  a  chair.  Pluto  had  selected  the  best  with  un- 
erring instinct;  and  suddenly  into  his  feline 
dreams  an  earthquake  intruded  as  Phil  tossed 
him  lightly  to  the  floor. 

Drawing  his  chair  close  to  Eliza,  who  had 
wilted  back  against  the  faded  cretonne  roses, 
the  young  man  drew  from  his  pocket  an  envel- 
ope and  took  out  of  it  a  letter,  and  a  small  card 
photograph. 

74- 


Philip  Sidney 

"Mother  gave  me  this  old  picture  of  Aunt 
Mary—" 

Eliza  pulled  herself  up  and  took  it  eagerly. 
"  I  must  get  my  glasses,"  she  said.  "  I  Ve  cried 
myself  nearly  blind." 

Phil's  big  hand  pushed  her  back. 

"I'll  get  them,"  he  returned.  "Where  are 
they?" 

"There,  on  the  end  o'  the  mantelpiece.  I  had 
'em,  readin'  an  advertisement." 

She  leaned  back  again  and  watched  him  as  he 
crossed  the  room;  watched  him  with  wonder. 
In  years  she  had  not  so  given  her  confidence  to  a 
human  being. 

She  put  on  the  spectacles  and  wistfully  re- 
garded the  picture  of  a  pretty  woman  whose 
heavy  braids,  wound  around  her  head,  caught 
the  light.  Her  plain  dress  was  white  and  she 
wore  black  velvet  bands  on  her  wrists. 

"Aunt  Mary  was  considered  different  by  her 
friends,  mother  says.  In  a  time  of  frills  she 
liked  plain  things." 

"I  guess  she  was  different,"  agreed  Eliza 
devoutly.  "Would  you  think  a  man  who  mar- 
ried her  would  like  whiskey  better?" 

Phil  shook  his  head.  "Sorry,"  he  said, 
laconically. 


The  Inner  Flame 

"One  good  thing,  he  drank  himself  to  death 
quick  and  left  her  free." 

Phil  held  out  the  letter. 

"Read  it  to  me,  please,  Mr.  Sidney." 

"Can't  do  it,"  returned  the  young  man  with 
cheerful  frankness.  "It  makes  my  nose  tingle 
every  time." 

So  Eliza  read  the  letter  in  silence.  It  took  her 
some  minutes  and  when  she  had  finished,  her  lip 
caught  between  her  teeth,  she  took  off  her 
glasses  and  wiped  them  while  she  regarded  Phil. 

"And  you've  got  to  live  up  to  that,"  she 
said. 

"I'm  going  to  try,"  he  answered  simply. 

Eliza  gazed  at  him,  her  hands  in  her  lap.  She 
felt  old  beside  his  youth,  weak  beside  his 
strength,  ignorant  beside  that  knowledge  which 
had  stirred  her  mistress  to  exaltation.  Never- 
theless, the  humble  love,  and  desire  to  help  him 
that  swelled  her  heart  was  a  new  desire  to  live,  a 
consecration. 

Presently  he  took  his  leave,  promising  to 
return  in  a  few  days  for  his  belongings. 

After  the  door  had  closed  behind  him,  she 
looked  down  at  the  cat,  who  had  awakened 
from  another  nap  at  the  stir  of  the  departure. 

He  rubbed  against  her  brown  calico  skirt  as 


Philip  Sidney 

she  lighted  the  gas;  then  she  moved  thought- 
fully to  the  mantelpiece  and  turned  the 
sketches  about.' 

"Mary  Sidney,"  she  mused,  looking  at  the 
graceful  head  of  Phil's  mother,  "you've  had 
your  heartache,  and  your  sacrifices.  You've 
been  most  pulled  in  two,  between  longin'  to 
stay  with  your  husband  and  follow  your  son  — 
you  told  me  somethin'  of  it  in  your  note 
thankin'  for  the  brooch.  Nobody  escapes, 
Mary  Sidney.  I  guess  I  have  n't  done  you 
justice,  seem'  you  Ve  raised  a  boy  like  that." 

Turning  to  the  sketch  of  the  storm-beaten 
tree,  she  clasped  her  hands  before  it.  "Dear 
one,"  she  mused  tenderly,  "you  loved  him. 
You  was  great.  You  died  not  knowin'  how 
great  you  were;  and  you  won't  care  if  I  do 
understand  this  kind  better,  'cause  all  America's 
too  ignorant  for  you,  and  I  'm  one  o'  the  worst." 

Her  eyes  dwelt  lingeringly  on  the  sketch.  She 
fancied  she  could  hear  the  wind  whistling 
through  the  writhing  branches.  "It  looks  like 
my  life,"  she  thought,  "  risin'  out  o'  the  mist 
and  the  cloud." 

She  gazed  at  it  in  silence,  then  turned  to  the 
destroyed  photograph.  She  seized  the  pieces 
quickly  and  turned  them  face  up.  The  rent  had 

77 


The  Inner  Flame 

missed  the  chin  and  cut  across  the  collar.  She 
regarded  the  face  wistfully.  The  cat  stretched 
his  forepaws  up  her  skirt  until  he  was  of  a  pre- 
ternatural length.  It  was  supper-time. 

"I  wonder,  Pluto,"  she  said  slowly,  "if  I 
could  n't  fit  that  into  a  minicher  frame.  Some 
of  'em  come  real  reasonable." 


CHAPTER  V 
ELIZA'S  INVITATION 

FOR  the  first  time  since  she  had  been  left  alone, 
Eliza  drank  her  tea  that  night  without  tears; 
and  no  lump  in  her  throat  prevented  her 
swallowing  the  egg  she  had  boiled. 

She  held  Mrs.  Ballard's  watch  in  her  hand  a 
minute  before  getting  into  bed;  and  looked  long 
at  its  gold  face,  and  listened  to  its  loud  and  busy 
ticking. 

"Forgive  me,  Mrs.  Ballard,"  she  thought; 
and  association  added,  "as  we  forgive  our 
debtors!" 

"No,  I  can't!"  she  muttered  fiercely.  "I 
can't!  What's  the  use  o'  pretendin'!" 

Muffling  the  watch  in  its  slipper,  she  turned 
out  the  gas  and  got  into  bed.  Composing  her- 
self to  sleep  more  peacefully  than  she  had  been 
able  to  do  for  many  a  night,  her  last  thought 
was  of  Mrs.  Ballard's  heir;  and  a  sense  of  com- 
fort stole  over  her  in  the  very  fact  of  his  exist- 
ence. Again  she  seemed  to  feel  the  sympathetic 
pressure  of  his  kind  hand. 

79 


The  Inner  Flame 

"He  thinks  she  may  be  paintin'  still,"  she 
reflected.  "  She's  got  colors  to  work  with  that's 
most  blindin',  they're  so  gorgeous,  if  we  can 
judge  anything  by  the  sunsets  at  the  island. 
Why  not  think  so!  It's  just  as  reasonable  as 
playin'  harps,  for  all  I  can  see." 

Ever  since  her  dear  one's  passing,  Eliza  had 
felt  too  crushed  and  too  wicked  to  pray;  and 
being  unable  to  say  the  whole  of  her  Lord's 
Prayer,  her  New  England  conscience  would  not 
allow  her  to  say  any  of  it;  but  to-night  a  sense 
of  hope  and  gratitude  lightened  the  darkness, 
and  a  new  gentleness  crept  over  her  counte- 
nance as  it  relaxed  its  lines  in  slumber. 
;  She  wakened  next  morning  without  the  load 
of  despair  on  her  heart;  and  slowly  realized 
what  had  changed  her  outlook.  She  even 
smiled  at  the  cat,  who  had  leaped  up  on  the  foot 
of  her  bed.  He  understood  that  he  might  come 
no  nearer. 

"Every  single  mornin',  Pluto,  I've  been 
dreadin'  that  the  day  had  come  I  'd  got  to  show 
her  pictures  to  him.  Well,  that's  over." 

"Meow!"  remarked  Pluto,  commenting  on 
the  selfishness  of  beings  who  overslept. 

"Yes,  I  know  what  you  want."  Eliza  turned 
her  head  wearily  on  the  pillow.  "'Weak  as  a 

80 


Eliza's  Invitation 

cat'!  I  don't  think  much  o'  that  expression.  I 
notice  you're  strong  enough  to  get  everything 
you  want.  Oh,  dear,  I  wonder  if  I  '11  ever  feel 
like  myself  again ! " 

The  cat  jumped  to  the  floor,  and  coming  to 
the  head  of  the  bed  sat  down  and  regarded  the 
haggard  face  reproachfully. 

"You're  just  as  handsome  as  a  picture, 
Pluto,"  mused  Eliza  aloud.  "I  don't  know 
as  it's  ever  made  you  any  worse  'n  common 
cats." 

This  optimistic  change  of  heart  lightened  the 
atmosphere  of  the  cheerless  kitchen  that  morn- 
ing; and  Eliza  drew  up  the  shade,  which  let  the 
sun  slant  in  past  a  neighboring  roof  for  a  short 
half-hour. 

A  beam  struck  the  kittens  frisking  above  the 
kitchen  table,  and  they  seemed  to  spring  from 
the  shadowy  gloom  of  their  corner,  flinging  their 
little  paws  about  with  the  infantine  glee  which 
had  first  captivated  their  owner. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  can  dance,  still,"  she  mur- 
mured, addressing  them  reproachfully;  but  she 
left  the  shade  up. 

It  was  nearly  noon  when  her  doorbell  rang 
again.  Eliza  hastened  to  the  glass.  She  had  on 
her  black  alpaca  to-day.  Sweeping-cap  and 

81 


The  Inner  Flame 

apron  were  remanded  to  their  corner,  and  she 
made  certain  that  her  hair  was  smooth,  then 
went  to  the  speaking-tube. 

"Yes?"  she  said,  and  listened  for  the  possible 
voice  of  yesterday;  but  a  woman's  tones  put  the 
question :  — 

"Is  this  Mrs.  Ballard's  apartment?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Eliza  briefly. 

"Is  this  Eliza  Brewster?"  again  asked  the 
sweet  voice. 

"It  is,"  came  the  non-committal  admission. 

"May  I  come  up,  Eliza ?    It's  Mrs  Wright." 

"Mrs.  who?" 

"Mrs.  Wright.  Don't  you  remember  my 
spending  the  day  with  Mrs.  Ballard  last  spring, 
just  before  I  went  to  Brewster's  Island?" 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Wright!"  exclaimed  Eliza  in  a 
different  tone.  "Excuse  me  for  keepin'  you 
waitin'.  Come  right  up." 

Well  Eliza  recalled  the  enjoyment  of  her  dear 
one  in  that  visit  of  an  old  friend,  rarely  seen. 
Mrs.  Ballard's  social  pleasures  were  so  few,  this 
day  gleamed  as  a  bright  spot  in  memory;  and, 
not  content  with  opening  wide  the  door,  Eliza 
went  out  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  to  receive  the 
mounting  figure. 

"She  stood  here  the  last  time,"  she  said 
82 


Eliza's  Invitation 

brokenly,  as  the  visitor  reached  her  and  held 
out  both  hands  to  receive  Eliza's. 

The  newcomer's  silver-white  hair  made  an 
aureole  about  the  face  that  looked  with  kindly 
eyes  into  the  other's  dim  ones. 

"  I  was  just  thinking  of  that  as  I  saw  you 
waiting,"  she  said.  "It  was  a  shock  to  me  to 
learn  that  Mrs.  Ballard  had  left  us.  Was  it  very 
sudden,  Eliza  ? " 

The  latter  could  not  trust  herself  to  speak. 
She  nodded  and  ushered  Mrs.  Wright  into  the 
living-room,  where  they  both  sat  down,  the 
visitor's  heart  touched  by  the  mourner's  altered 
countenance,  and  the  evident  struggle  she  was 
making  not  to  give  way.  Her  compassion 
showed  in  her  gentle  face  and  Eliza  made  a  brave 
effort  to  smile. 

"I  know  I'm  a  sight,  Mrs.  Wright,"  she  fal- 
tered. "I've  never  been  any  hand  to  cry,  but 
I  've  nearly  washed  the  eyes  out  o'  my  head  the 
past  week.  I  don't  expect  anybody  to  know  what 
I've  lost."  Her  lips  twitched  and  she  bit  them 
hard. 

"I  can  very  well  imagine,"  returned  the 
other,  "for  Mrs.  Ballard  spoke  so  warmly 
of  you  to  me,  and  told  me  how  many 
years  your  fortunes  had  been  cast  together. 

83 


The  Inner  Flame 

She  said  you  were  the  mainspring  of  the 
house." 

.<  "Thank  you,  Mrs.  Wright,"  said  Eliza  hum- 
bly. "Yes,  I  saw  that  she  ate  and  slept  right. 
Her  interests  were  where  I  could  n't  follow 
'cause  I  did  n't  know  enough ;  but  she  was  the 
mainspring  o'  my  life.  It's  broken,  broken.  I 
have  n't  got  the  energy  to  lift  a  finger,  nor  a 
thing  to  live  for.  Honestly,  Mrs.  Wright," 
added  Eliza  in  a  burst  of  despair,  "  if  't  wa'n't 
for  the  commonness  of  a  Brews ter  bein'  found 
so  disrespectable  as  dead  in  a  New  York  flat, 
and  strange  folks  layin'  their  hands  on  me,  I 
would  n't  'a'  lived  through  some  o'  the  nights 
I  've  had  since  she  went  away.  I  'd  lay  there 
and  try  to  think  o'  one  single  person  it'd 
make  any  difference  to,  and  there  ain't  one." 

"My  dear,"  returned  Mrs.  Wright,  regarding 
the  haggard  face,  "  how  about  your  relatives  on 
the  island?" 

Eliza  shook  her  head.  "The  only  folks  o' 
mine  that  are  left  are  '-in-laws,'  or  else  cousins 
I  Ve  scarcely  heard  from  for  twenty-five  years. 
They  have  n't  troubled  themselves  about  me, 
and  if  I  'd  'a'  walked  out  that  way,  they'd 
only  '  a '  said  I  'd  ought  to  be  ashamed  o'  my- 
self." 

84 


Eliza's  Invitation 

"And  so  you  ought,"  said  Mrs.  Wright  with 
her  gentle  smile. 

"Well,  I  did  n't  anyway, "  said  Eliza  wearily. 
"Did  you  stay  at  the  island  all  summer?" 
r    "Yes,  and  I  'm  still  there.  May  I  take  off  my 
coat,  Eliza?" 

The  hostess  started  up  with  sudden  recol- 
lection. 

"I  hope  you'll  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Wright;  if  I 
ever  had  any  manners  they're  gone." 

Slipping  off  the  coat,  and  relinquishing  it  into 
Eliza's  hands,  the  visitor  went  on  talking.  "My 
husband  gave  up  business  a  couple  of  years  ago. 
Perhaps  Mrs.  Ballard  has  told  you  that  he  was 
never  a  successful  business  man."  Mrs.  Wright 
stifled  a  sigh  under  a  bright  smile.  "Nobody 
can  be  well  and  idle  long,  you  know,  so  the  next 
thing  he  began  to  be  ailing,  the  dear  man,  and 
he  thought  the  sea  would  do  him  good ;  and,  my 
dear  Eliza,  it  has  done  him  so  much  good  that 
we  have  become  islanders." 

"You  don't  mean  you're  going  to  stay 
there?" 

The  visitor  nodded  the  silvery  aureole  of  her 
hair. 

"That  is  what  I  mean.  Mr.  Wright  went 
fishing  all  summer  and  he  thinks  he  has  found 

85 


The  Inner  Flame 

his  niche  in  life.  He  has  not  been  so  well  and 
happy  in  years." 

"You'll  stay  all  winter?"  asked  Eliza 
incredulously. 

"Yes,"  the  visitor  smiled  again,  "and  all  the 
winters,  so  far  as  I  know.  Mr.  Wright  is  per- 
fectly content." 

"How  about  you?"  asked  Eliza  briefly.  She 
had  gone  back  to  her  chair  and  frowned  uncon- 
sciously into  the  peaceful  face  regarding  her. 

"Oh!"  Mrs.  Wright  raised  her  eyebrows  and 
gave  her  head  a  slight  shake.  " '  In  my  father's 
house  are  many  mansions ! '  I  like  to  feel  that  it 
is  all  His  house,  even  now,  and  that  wherever 
I  may  live  He  is  there,  so  why  should  I  be 
lonely?" 

Listening  to  these  words,  it  seemed  to  Eliza 
as  if  some  lamp,  kept  burning  on  the  altar  of 
this  woman's  soul,  sent  its  steady  light  into  the 
peaceful  eyes  regarding  her. 

"It's  a  good  thing  you  can  get  comfort  that 
way,"  she  responded,  rather  awkwardly.  "I 
know  it  must  'a'  been  a  struggle  to  consent  to  it 
—  any  one  used  to  a  big  city  like  Boston.  What 
does  your  niece  say  to  it?" 

"Violet  was  with  me  a  while.  I  am  visiting 
her  here  now." 

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Eliza's  Invitation 

"She  teaches,  don't  she?  —  the  languages,  or 
something?"  inquired  Eliza  vaguely. 

"No,  gymnastic  dancing  and  other  branches 
of  physical  culture.  She  works  hard,  and  no 
place  ever  rested  her  like  the  island,  she 
thought.  Do  you  remember  Jane  Foster?" 

The  corners  of  Eliza's  mouth  drew  down  in  a 
smiling  grimace  of  recollection. 

"Do  I  remember  Jennie  Foster!"  she  said. 
"We  grew  up  together." 

"Well,  she  keeps  a  boarding-house  in  Port- 
land now  in  winters  and  comes  to  the  old 
home,  summers.  We  boarded  with  her,  and 
now,  instead  of  closing  up  the  place,  she  has 
rented  it  to  me." 

Eliza  shook  her  head.  "Pretty  high  up,"  she 
commented.  "Some  o'  those  February  gales 
will  pretty  near  shave  you  off  the  hill." 

"A  good  many  husky  generations  have  been 
brought  up  and  gone  forth  into  the  world  out 
of  that  house,"  said  Mrs.  Wright  cheerfully. 
"There  are  some  trees,  you  know.  Do  you 
remember  the  apple  orchard?" 

" Huh ! "  commented  Eliza.  "  I  know  how  the 
scrawny  little  things  look  when  they're  bare! 
A  lot  o'  shelter  they'll  be." 

Mrs.  Wright  dropped  her  head  a  little  to  one 


The  Inner  Flame 

side  and  her  kind  grey  eyes  rested  on  Eliza's 
grief-scarred  face.  "I'm  glad  I  came  to  see 
you,"  she  said  irrelevantly. 

"  I  'm  a  kind  of  a  Job's  comforter,  I  'm  afraid. 
JVhen  I  Ve  thought  of  anything  the  past  fort- 
night I  Ve  thought  about  Brewster's  Island,  — 
a  sort  of  a  counter-irritant,  I  guess." 

"No,  no,  we  can't  have  that.  You  must  n't 
call  the  Blessed  Isle  by  such  a  name." 

"Perhaps  it  won't  be  such  a  Blessed  Isle 
after  you've  spent  a  winter  there,"  remarked 
Eliza  drily. 

Mrs.  Wright  smiled.  "I  know  it  was  your 
native  place,  and  I  hoped  you  might  have 
pleasant  associations  with  it." 
i  Eliza  sighed  wearily.  "Yes,  if  I  could  be 
twelve  years  old  again,  and  go  coastin'  and 
skatin',  and  when  it  was  dark  tumble  into  bed 
under  the  eaves  with  a  hot  bag  o'  sand  to  keep 
the  sheets  from  freezin'  me,  I  should  like  it,  I 
s'pose.  I  used  to;  but  nobody  on  that  snow- 
covered  hill  cares  whether  I'm  alive  or  dead, 
and  that  cruel  black  ocean  that  swallowed  up 
my  father  one  night,  and  killed  my  mother, 
that  roarin'  around  the  island  in  the  freezin'  gale 
is  the  only  thing  I  can  see  and  hear  when  I 
think  of  the  winter." 

88 


Eliza's  Invitation 

"Then  you  have  been  thinking  of  going  back 
to  the  island?" 

"Well,  it's  either  that  or  goin'  into  some- 
body's kitchen,  here."  Eliza's  mouth  twitched 
grimly.  "Mrs.  Fabian  offered  me  a  recommen- 
dation." 

"Oh,  yes.  The  Fabians  were  very  kind  to 
Violet  this  summer." 

"You  don't  say  so!  I'm  glad  they  can  be 
kind  to  somebody." 

The  bitterness  of  Eliza's  tone  impressed  her 
visitor.  "Mrs.  Ballard  was  Mrs.  Fabian's  aunt, 
I  believe,"  she  ventured. 
i    "I  believe  so,  too,"  said  Eliza,  " but  nothing 
she  ever  did  proved  it." 

Mrs.  Wright  veered  away  from  dangerous 
ground.  "I  have  been  thinking  of  you  a  great 
deal  since  I  learned  of  Mrs.  Ballard's  going, 
and  I  wanted  at  least  to  see  you  before  I  went 
back."  There  was  a  little  pause,  then  she 
added:  "It  occurred  to  me  that  you  might  be 
going  home  to  the  island  — " 

"I  haven't  any  home  there,"  interrupted 
Eliza  stoically. 

" —  and  I  was  going  to  ask  you,  in  that  case, 
If  you  would  n't  eat  your  Thanksgiving  dinner 
with  me." 


The  Inner  Flame 

Eliza  looked  at  her  visitor,  startled. 

"Think  of  me,"  she  said  slowly,  "eatin'  a 
Thanksgivin'  dinner  —  anywhere." 

Mrs.  Wright  felt  a  pang  at  her  heart  under 
the  desolation  of  the  voice.  It  seemed  the  voice 
of  the  forlorn  room  in  which  they  sat.  She  rose 
to  hide  the  look  in  her  eyes,  and  moving  to  the 
mantel  took  up  the  sketches  that  stood  there. 

"Are  these  interesting  things  Mrs.  Ballard's 
work?"  she  asked. 

Eliza  was  clutching  the  meagre  arms  of  her 
chair  until  her  knuckles  whitened.  How  fate 
was  softening  toward  her!  The  thought  that 
this  friend  of  her  lost  one  would  have  her  own 
hearth  on  the  dreaded  island  warmed  the  winter 
prospect.  A  link  with  Mrs.  Ballard.  A  friend 
with  whom  she  might  talk  of  her.  The  rift  made 
yesterday  in  her  submerging  clouds  widened. 

"Mrs.  Wright,"  she  said,  unheeding  the 
visitor's  question,  "you're  religious,  I  know, 
'cause  you  quoted  the  Bible,  and  'cause  you 
take  cheerfully  bein'  buried  in  a  snowdrift  on 
Brewster's  Island  instead  of  havin'  the  things 
you're  accustomed  to.  So  I  want  you  to  know 
before  you  invite  me  to  have  Thanksgivin' 
dinner  with  you  that  I  'm  the  wickedest  woman 
in  New  York.  I  have  n't  said  a  prayer  since 

90 


Eliza's  Invitation 

Mrs.  Ballard  died.  I  hate  Mrs.  Fabian  for  her 
neglect  of  her,  and  I  did  hate  the  young  man 
Mrs.  Ballard  left  her  little  bit  o'  money  to." 

Mrs.  Wright,  holding  the  sketch  of  Mary 
Sidney,  turned  and  looked  at  the  speaker. 

"Hated  him  'cause  he  was  an  artist,  and  I 
did  n't  believe  he'd  appreciate  her  work,  but 
just  spend  her  savings  careless.  That's  his  mo- 
ther you  've  got  in  your  hand,  and  that  's 
him,  layin'  on  the  mantelpiece  torn  across  the 
middle." 

Eliza's  aspect  as  she  talked  was  wild.  Mrs. 
Wright  picked  up  the  torn  pieces  and  fitted 
them  together.  In  fancy  she  saw  Eliza  rending 
the  card.  She  felt  that  she  understood  all;  the 
heart-break,  the  starvation  fare  of  tea,  tears, 
and  misery,  and  the  blank  future. 

"His  name's  Philip  Sidney,  and  his  mother 
was  Mrs.  Ballard's  niece  and  namesake.  Yes- 
terday he  came.  He  was  altogether  different 
from  what  I  expected.  He  took  a  load  off  o'  my 
mind  and  heart.  I  don't  begrudge  him  any- 
thing." 

"  You  're  sorry,  then,  that  you  tore  this 
handsome  picture." 

"Oh,  I  didn't — 'cause  Mrs.  Ballard  set 
such  store  by  it.  I  only  turned  it  to  the  wall. 

91 


The  Inner  Flame 

T  was  he  tore  it.  He  said  it  was  too  pretty 
or  something.  He  does  look  different.  The 
picture's  kind  o'  dreamin'  lookin'  and  he's  so 
awake  he  —  well,  he  sparkles." 

Mrs.  Wright  smiled  at  the  haggard  speaker. 

"I'm  so  glad  you  like  him.  Has  he  come  to 
New  York  to  study?" 

"Yes;  he  had  to  be  a  mining  engineer  when 
he  wanted  to  paint.  So  now  he's  goin'  to  study 
with  Mrs.  Ballard's  money." 

"Why  —  I  remember,"  said  Mrs.  Wright, 
thoughtfully  regarding  the  sketches.  "Mrs. 
Ballard  told  me  about  him  in  the  spring."  She 
looked  up  again  at  her  hostess.  "You've  been 
through  a  great  deal,  Eliza,"  she  said,  "and 
you've  tried  to  go  alone." 

"I  had  to  go  alone,"  returned  Eliza  fiercely; 
"but  I  can  be  honest  if  I  am  lonely  and  I  won't 
sit  down  at  your  table  without  your  knowin' 
that  I'm  a  sinner.  Don't  talk  religion  to  me 
either,"  she  added,  "  'cause  I  ain't  the  kind  it 
would  do  any  good  to." 

Mrs.  Wright  came  back  to  her  chair  and  her 
eyes  were  thoughtful. 

"I  have  a  better  idea  still,"  she  said.  "For 
how  long  have  you  this  apartment?" 

"  One  week  more." 

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Eliza's  Invitation 

"Oh,  only  a  week.  Then,  supposing  you 
come  and  live  with  me  this  winter." 

Eliza  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  speechless. 
The  grey  wall  of  the  future  slowly  dissolved. 
The  possibility  of  friendship  —  of  a  home  — 
was  actually  unnerving  in  its  contrast  to  all  she 
had  steeled  herself  to  endure. 

"Come  and  help  me,  Eliza,"  went  on  the 
gentle  voice.  "  Show  me  how  to  meet  an  island 
winter.  I  believe  between  us  we  can  make  a 
cosy  sort  of  season  of  it." 

"Cosy!"  echoed  Eliza's  dry  lips. 

"Yes.  There  by  the  gnarled  little  apple  trees, 
handicapped  by  winter  winds,  and  the  forlorn 
little  chicken-house  that  stands  near  the  or- 
chard. Do  you  remember  that?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Eliza  mechanically. 
"T  wa'n't  always  a  chicken-house.  Polly 
Ann  Foster  built  it  'cause  she  quarrelled  with 
her  son  and  would  n't  live  with  him.  I  was 
a  little  girl  and  we  were  all  scared  of  her. 
When  she  died  they  began  using  it  for  the 
hens." 

"Well,  it's  empty  and  forlorn  now.  Miss 
Foster  can't  keep  chickens  and  go  back  to  Port- 
land every  fall.  That's  our  only  near  neighbor, 
you  remember." 

93 


The  Inner  Flame 

"I  remember.  Why  should  you  be  such  an 
angel  to  me?"  burst  forth  Eliza. 

"Is  that  being  an  angel?  Why,  I'm  so  glad. 
You  know  I  might  be  a  little  bit  lonely  at  the 
island.  Mr.  Wright  is  pretty  sleepy  in  the 
evening  and  the  house  rambles.  We  '11  shut  up 
part  of  it,  Eliza,  won't  we?" 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Wright!"  exclaimed  the  lonely 
woman,  every  trace  of  her  fierceness  gone. 
"What  a  godsend  you're  givin'  me." 

"Then  it's  settled;  and  Violet  will  be  so  glad. 
She  is  n't  quite  pleased  with  our  plan  for  the 
winter." 


CHAPTER  VI 

BROTHER  AND   SISTER 

KATHLEEN  FABIAN  sat  at  her  desk,  deeply  en- 
grossed in  the  theme  she  was  writing,  when 
her  brother's  name  was  brought  to  her. 

The  expression  of  her  face  as  she  took  the 
card  did  not  indicate  that  the  surprise  was 
wholly  joyous.  She  frowned  and  bit  her  lip,  and 
an  anxious  look  grew  in  her  eyes  as  she  went  out 
into  the  hall  to  meet  the  visitor,  who  advanced 
with  bounds,  and  grasped  her  in  one  arm,  giv- 
ing her  cheek  a  brotherly  peck. 

"What  has  happened,  Edgar?"  she  asked  as 
he  led  her  back  into  her  room. 

"I've  come  to  see  you,  that's  all,"  was  the 
rejoinder. 

Edgar  Fabian  was  an  airy  youth,  carefully 
arrayed  in  the  height  of  fashion.  His  fair  hair 
was  brushed  until  it  reflected  the  light,  and 
his  jaunty  assurance  was  wont  to  carry  all  be- 
fore it. 

"Is  anything  wrong  at  home?"  insisted  his 
sister. 

95 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Certainly  not." 

They  were  now  inside  the  room  and  the 
young  man  closed  the  door. 

"Well,  I  have  n't  any  money,"  said  Kathleen 
bluntly,  —  "at  least,  not  for  you!" 

Edgar  was  but  little  taller  than  she,  and,  as 
she  looked  at  him  now,  her  serious  slender  face 
opposed  to  his  boyish  one,  her  peculiar  slow 
speech,  in  which  her  teeth  scarcely  closed, 
sounding  lazy  beside  his  crispness,  she  seemed 
the  elder  of  the  two. 

"This  leaping  at  conclusions  is  too  feminine  a 
weakness  for  you  to  indulge  in,  Kath,"  was  the 
rejoinder  as  the  visitor  slid  out  of  a  silk-lined 
overcoat;  but  he  rested  his  gaze  upon  his  sister's 
dark  hair  rather  than  the  eyes  beneath.  "  I  like 
your  hospitality,"  he  added.  "I  hope  it  isn't 
presumption  for  me  to  remove  my  coat.  Try  to 
control  your  joy  when  your  brother  comes  up 
from  New  York  to  see  you." 

"Of  course  I  should  always  be  glad  to  see  you 
if  —  if  you  'd  let  me,"  was  the  reply. 

"What's  to  prevent?"  inquired  the  visitor 
cheerfully. 

"My  diary,"  was  the  laconic  response. 

"Oh,  you  make  me  tired,"  said  Edgar,  taking 
out  a  cigarette-case.  "May  I?" 

96 


Brother  and  Sister 

"No,"  returned  Kathleen,  speaking  with  her 
characteristic  deliberation. 

"You  may  have  one,  too";  he  offered  his 
case,  still  standing,  since  she  did  not  sit.  He 
smiled  as  he  said  it;  the  evenness  of  his  teeth 
and  the  glee  of  his  smile  had  melted  much  ice 
before  now. 

"No,  thanks,"  she  answered  coldly. 

He  gave  an  exclamation. 

"Oh,  your  grave  and  reverend  senior  airs 
won't  go  down  with  me,  you  know."  He 
sniffed  suspiciously.  "  Some  one  has  been  hav- 
ing a  whiff  here  this  morning." 

"It  was  n't  I." 

"Well,  it  was  somebody;  and  some  one  more 
critical  than  I  is  liable  to  drop  in  here  and  notice 
it.  Just  to  save  you  trouble,  I'll  light  up.  Bet- 
ter take  one.  It's  your  golden  opportunity." 

Again  he  offered  the  case,  and  now  Kathleen 
took  a  cigarette  mechanically.  She  still  ques- 
tioned her  brother's  debonair  countenance. 

"Well,"  he  said  impatiently,  after  a  moment 
of  silence,  "are  we  going  to  stand  here  until 
dinner-time  like  two  tenpins?" 

"Are  you  going  to  stay  until  dinner-time?" 

"Why,"  with  another  effort  at  gayety,  "if 
you  go  on  like  this  and  positively  won't  take  no 

97 


The  Inner  Flame 

for  an  answer,  perhaps  I  shall  be  obliged  to. 
Say,  Kath,  what's  the  matter  with  you?  You 
used  to  be  a  good  fellow.  College  has  ruined 
you.  I  did  n't  treat  you  like  this  when  you  came 
to  see  me." 

"Forgive  me,  Edgar,"  Kathleen's  drawl  be- 
came very  nearly  an  exclamation.  "I  was 
thinking  so  hard." 

She  dropped  into  a  chair  and  he  lighted  his 
cigarette,  and  bending  forward  allowed  her  to 
draw  the  flame  into  her  own. 

"Now,  this  is  something  like  it,"  remarked 
the  young  man,  sinking  upon  a  leather-covered 
divan.  He  picked  up  a  guitar  that  lay  at  its 
head,  and  strummed  lightly  upon  it.  "Think  of 
your  giving  house-room  to  anything  so  light- 
minded  as  a  guitar!"  he  added,  his  disapproving 
eyes  roving  about  the  entire  apartment.  "This 
room  looks  more  like  a  hermit's  cell  every  time 
I  come." 

"No,"  rejoined  Kathleen,  with  her  soft  lazi- 
ness of  speech,  and  blowing  a  ring  of  smoke 
upon  the  air,  "  it  is  only  that  you  have  time  to 
forget  between  your  visits." 

Edgar  removed  his  cigarette  and  began  to 
murmur  "The  Owl  and  the  Pussy  Cat,"  in  a 
tenor  voice  calculated  to  pour  oil  on  troubled 


Brother  and  Sister 

waters,  while  he  struck  the  accompanying 
chords  with  a  sure  touch. 

"They  took  some  honey,  and  plenty  of  money, 
Wrapped  up  in  a  five-pound  note!" 

he  sang.  "Think  of  it!"  he  groaned,  pausing  to 
save  the  life  of  his  cigarette; "  plenty  of  money! 
Who  would  n't  be  an  owl  or  a  pussy-cat!" 

Kathleen's  eyes  narrowed. 

"You  speak  of  the  rarity  of  my  visits,"  he 
went  on.  "I  suppose  you  think  it  is  nothing  to 
take  a  few  hours  out  of  a  business  day  to  run  up 
here." 

Kathleen  smiled.  "On  the  contrary,  I  think 
it  so  much  of  a  thing  that  it  always  startles  me 
to  get  your  card  on  a  week  day,  and  you  seem  to 
have  other  uses  for  your  Sundays." 

"Very  well,"  returned  her  brother,  strum- 
ming the  guitar  with  conscious  rectitude; 
"know  then  that  the  Administration  sent  me 
up  here  to-day  on  business." 

"With  me?" 

"No"  (singing)  — 

'Drink   to   me   only   with   thine   eyes,    and    I    will 
pledge—'" 

"Edgar!"  protested  the  girl  lazily,  "it's  too 
early  in  the  day  for  that." 

"Hello,  grave  and  reverend  senior,"  he  re- 
99 


The  Inner  Flame 

torted.  "I  did  n't  know  you  were  so  much  of  a 


connoisseur." 


The  girl's  reply  had  a  sad  note. 

"I  wish  you  would  do  something  with  that 
voice,"  she  said. 

The  singer  smiled.  He  was  now  smoking 
again,  and  strumming  the  melody  of  the  song. 
Perhaps  he  was  thinking  that  he  had  done  a 
good  deal  with  his  voice. 

"I  don't  know  that  it  has  been  altogether 
wasted,"  he  replied. 

"Carrying  off  the  honors  as  the  singing-girl 
in  a  college  play  is  n't  what  I  mean." 

"Oh,  I'm  sure  it  is  n't,"  scoffed  the  possessor 
of  the  voice.  "  I  'd  take  long  odds  that  what  you 
mean  involves  something  that  would  come 
under  the  head  of  work  spelled  with  a  capital 
W— " 

"Think  of  a  man  butterfly!"  ejaculated  Kath- 
leen, removing  her  cigarette  and  her  drawl 
for  an  unwonted  verbal  explosion.  "Edgar,  / 
should  have  been  the  man,  and  you  the  girl  in 
our  family." 

"I  should  object,"  he  rejoined  calmly,  all  his 
attention  apparently  concentrated  on  the  com- 
passing of  some  intricate  fingering  of  the  guitar 
strings. 

ICO 


Brother  and  Sister 

"Think  of  your  rooms  at  college  and  this!" 
went  on  Kathleen. 

'  "I'd  like  mighty  well  to  have  a  squint  at  the 
loved  and  lost  to  take  the  taste  of  this  out  of  my 
mouth,"  returned  the  visitor  imperturbably. 

"How  is  father?"  asked  Kathleen,  relapsing 
into  her  usual  manner. 

"  Smaht,"  rejoined  Edgar. 

At  the  reminder  of  Brewster's  Island,  Kath- 
leen's eyes  smiled,  then  grew  grave.  "I  can't 
bear  to  have  you  call  father  the  Administra- 
tion," she  said. 

"Why  not?  —  you  didn't  want  me  to  call 
him  Governor." 

"It  sounds  so  —  so  disrespectful." 

"Not  to  me.  I  think  it  suggests  salaams." 

"No,  Edgar  —  slams;  but  I  don't  want  to 
joke." 

"I'm  sure  of  it,"  interpolated  the  guitar- 
playing  one. 

"Stop  that  noise  a  minute,  please." 

He  obeyed. 

"  I  wish  you  would  n't  speak  of  father  so 
coldly." 

"Then  it'll  be  likely  to  be  hotly,  and  at 
that  you'd  make  a  fuss,"  returned  the  youth 
doggedly. 

101 


The  Inner  Flame 

"He  is  a  good  father,"  declared  the  girl,  the 
lingering  words  coming  devoutly. 

"Yes,"  retorted  Edgar  drily.  "Perhaps,  if 
your  little  day-dream  could  come  true  and  you 
be  the  son,  you  would  n't  think  so." 

"I  believe  it  is  father's  fault  largely,"  said 
Kathleen.  "He  began  by  spoiling  you." 

"Then,  if  I'm  spoiled,  what's  the  use  of 
kicking?  —  and  if  he's  done  it  he  must  pay  for 
it;  but  that's  just  what  he  won't  do  —  pay  for 
it." 

\  The  speaker  stubbed  the  light  out  of  his 
cigarette  and  tossed  it  on  the  table.  He  rose 
and  walked  the  floor. 

"He  has  put  you  in  his  office,"  said  Kathleen. 
"He  will  give  you  every  chance  to  rise." 

"Yes,  and  meanwhile  pays  me  a  salary 
smaller  than  the  allowance  he  gave  me  at 
college." 

"Because,"  said  the  girl,  "he  found  that  you 
could  n't  even  keep  within  that.  He  knew  you 
must  wake  up." 

"What  occasion?"  demanded  Edgar,  stand- 
ing still  to  gesture.  "  I 'm  the  only  son.  Look  at 
the  money  he  has." 

"And  has  worked  for;  worked  for,  Edgar. 
Can't  you  understand?  Supposing  you  had 

102 


Brother  and  Sister 

worked  like  that,  and  had  a  son  who  dipped  into 
the  bag  with  both  hands  and  threw  your  money 
away." 

"I  don't  want  to  throw  it  away.  I  get  one 
hundred  cents'  worth  of  fun  out  of  every  dollar 
I  spend.  What  more  does  he  want?  I  did  n't 
ask  to  be  born,  did  I  ?  I  did  n't  ask  to  have 
expensive  tastes.  Why  should  I  have  to  ride  in 
a  taxicab?" 

"You  don't.  There  are  the  street  cars." 

Edgar's  blond  face  turned  upon  her  angrily. 
"When  do  you  suppose  I  want  a  machine? 
When  I'm  doddering  around  with  a  cane?" 

"Earn  it,  then." 

"Yes,  I  can  on  a  petty  few  hundreds  a  year!" 

"You  drive  down  with  father  every  morning, 
don't  you?" 

"No,  I  don't.  I  have  to  get  there  before  he 
does." 

Kathleen  laughed.  "What  an  outrage!" 

"  I  take  the  car  first  and  then  it  goes  back  for 
him,"  said  Edgar  sulkily. 

"Oh,  the  cruelty  of  some  parents!"  drawled 
Kathleen,  knocking  the  ash  from  her  cigarette. 
"The  idea  of  Peter  going  back  for  father.  He 
should  stand  in  Wall  Street  awaiting  your 
orders." 

103 


The  Inner  Flame 

"No,  he  should  n't,  but  I  should  have  a  mo- 
tor of  my  own.  The  Ad.  is  more  old-fashioned 
than  any  of  the  other  fathers  in  our  set." 
The  speaker  paused  and  gestured  defensively. 
"You'll  get  off  all  that  ancient  stuff  about  the 
new  generation  wanting  to  begin  where  the  old 
left  off.  Of  course  we  do.  Why  not?  I  hope  my 
son  will  begin  where  I  leave  off." 

Kathleen  gave  her  one-sided  smile  —  her 
Mona  Lisa  smile  her  admirers  called  it :  — 

"Where  you  leave  off  is  not  liable  to  be  a  bed 
of  roses  if  you  keep  on  as  you've  begun."  She 
looked  up  at  her  brother  gravely  as  she  tapped 
the  end  of  her  cigarette  and  dropped  it  in 
the  ash  receiver.  "Why  don't  you  use  your 
brains?"  she  asked.  "Can't  you  see  that  the 
more  father  notices  that  you  have  no  ambition, 
the  tighter  he  will  draw  the  rein?" 

"I  have  plenty  of  ambition." 

"For  work?" 

"Oh,  you  make  me  tired!" 

The  young  man  resumed  his  impatient  walk. 

The  sister  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  her  dark 
eyes  following  him,  without  the  hint  of  a  smile. 

"I'd  like  to  see  you  tired,"  she  said  seriously. 

He  turned  on  her.  "Ever  see  me  after  a  polo 


game?" 


104 


Brother  and  Sister 

"But  life  is  n't  a  game,  Edgar." 
He  opened  his  eyes  at  her  and  grimaced 
scornfully. 

"The  grave  and  reverend  senior  again; 
nearly  ready  to  graduate,  and  inform  the  world 
that 

'  Life  is  real,  life  is  earnest, 
And  the  grave  is  not  its  goal!' 

Might  as  well  be  in  the  grave  at  once  as  dig  and 
grind  the  days  away.  Heaven  help  us  when  you 
get  home!  I  suppose  you  must  go  through  the 
fine-spun  theory  stage  like  the  usual  attack  of 
measles." 

"Measles  are  catching,"  remarked  Kathleen 
quietly. 

"Exactly!  but  I'm  mighty  glad  I'm  immune 
from  the  know-it-all  disease." 

"That  would  mean  that  you'd  had  it,  Edgar, 
and  you  never  did  have  it;  not  even  a  rash. 
Open  the  window,  please.  We're  a  little  blue  in 
here." 

Edgar  threw  open  the  unoffending  window 
with  a  force  that  threatened  the  mechanism. 

"No  doubt,"  he  said,  "you'd  like  to  have  me 
live,  like  that  cowboy,  in  a  stable,  and  get  my 
own  meals." 

"A  garage  would  suit  you  better,  I  suppose," 
105 


The  Inner  Flame 

returned  Kathleen.    "What  are  you  talking 
about?" 

"Has  n't  mother  written  you  of  the  genius 
who  has  come  out  of  the  wild  and  woolly  to  get 
his  Pegasus  curried  in  New  York?" 

"Has  mother  taken  up  a  genius?  —  Mother, 
of  all  people!" 

"Why,  she's  had  him  at  the  house,  and  in- 
sists on  my  being  civil  to  him;  but  I  have  n't 
seen  him  yet.  I  get  enough  of  him  right  at  the 
breakfast  and  dinner  table  without  hunting  up 
the  stable.  His  ambition  is  at  the  bottom  of 
my  coffee  cup,  and  his  genius  for  hard  work  is 
served  as  an  entree  every  night." 

"Oh,"  —  Kathleen's  face  gained  a  ray  of 
interest,  —  "you  mean  that  cousin  of  ours." 

"He's  no  cousin,"  retorted  Edgar.  "He's 
one  of  mother's  fifty-seven  varieties,  a  sort  of 
step-neighbor-in-law  of  ours.  When  father  and 
mother  were  out  at  the  mine  they  met  him.  I 
think  it  was  up  to  him  to  stay  out  there  and 
make  that  mine  pay.  I  think  if  he'd  shown  a 
little  genius  for  hard  work  right  there,  it  would 
have  been  more  to  the  point." 
•  "Yes,  mother  wrote  me."  Kathleen's  tone 
was  tinged  with  the  interest  in  her  eyes. 
"What  is  his  name,  now?" 

106 


Brother  and  Sister 

"Sidney,"  responded  Edgar  with  open  dis- 
gust. "Oh,  I'm  authority  on  his  name  all 
right, — Philip  Sidney;  I've  had  it  dinged  into 
my  ears  faithfully." 

"A  name  to  live  up  to,"  remarked  the  girl. 
"  It  was  interesting,  Aunt  Mary  leaving  him  her 
money." 

"  It  would  have  been  more  interesting  if  she'd 
had  anything  to  leave." 

Edgar  had  thrown  himself  back  on  the  divan 
and  was  watching  curtains  and  smoke  draw  out 
the  window. 

"Do  you  remember,"  continued  his  sister, 
"what  nice  cookies  Aunt  Mary  used  to  give  us 
when  we  were  little?  Mother  felt  sorry  not  to 
be  here  when  she  died." 

"Oh,  mother's  ripping,"  declared  Edgar,  his 
cheerfulness  restored  by  some  inspiriting  mem- 
ory. "She's  had  a  hand-to-hand,  knock-down- 
and-drag-out  with  the  old  gargoyle  that  holds 
the  fort  over  there  at  Aunt  Mary's." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  drawled  Kathleen 
with  faint  disgust. 

"Mother  gave  a  graphic  account  of  the  fray 
at  dinner  one  night.  I  was  n't  giving  the  story 
my  whole  attention,  but  I  gathered  that  she 
and  the  doughty  Eliza  each  got  hold  of  one  end 

107 


The  Inner  Flame 

of  Aunt  Mary's  camel's  hair  shawl  and  had  a  tug 
of  war;  and  Eliza's  cat  won  the  day  for  her  by 
jumping  on  mother  and  nearly  clawing  her  furs 
off." 

"Edgar,"  protested  Kathleen,  "your  bump 
of  respect  is  an  intaglio!" 

"Well,  I  think  I've  got  it  about  right.  There 
were  diamonds  mixed  up  in  it  too.  I  believe 
Eliza  wears  a  diamond  tiara  at  her  work  so  as  to 
keep  it  away  from  mother;  while  the  parent  of 
the  worshipful  Philip  came  in  for  a  diamond 
necklace,  and  mother  was  left  nothing  but  cold 
neglect." 

"Absurd!"  breathed  Kathleen.  "Aunt Mary 
was  poor  as  a  church  mouse." 

"Well,  whatever  happened,  the  fur  was  rising 
on  the  back  of  mother's  neck,  and  I  did  n't 
know  but  there  would  be  a  silver  lining  to  the 
cloud  and  she'd  cut  Philip  Sidney;  but,"  with  a 
heavy  sigh,  "no  such  luck.  The  cowboy  still 
gallops  his  Pegasus  over  my  prostrate  body 
every  meal." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  a  stable?"  asked 
Kathleen. 

"Why,  Pegasus  has  to  have  one,  I  suppose." 

"Is  that  all?  Are  you  only  being  witty?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  You  know  the  literal  truth 
108 


Brother  and  Sister 

is  all  I'm  ever  up  to.   The  genius  has  a  room 
over  a  stable,  and  an  oil  stove!" 

"Why  a  stable?" 

"Convenient  for  Pegasus,  I  suppose,"  re- 
sponded Edgar  carelessly.  "Beside,  doubtless 
he  would  feel  out  of  place  in  any  abode  more 
civilized." 

"Edgar  Fabian,  that 's  nonsense.  I  remember 
his  mother,  when  she  came  East  years  ago, 
don't  you?" 

"They're  as  poor  as  Job's  turkey,"  said 
Edgar  with  a  careless  shrug.  "That's  why  he 
jumped  at  Aunt  Mary's  pittance  like  a  trout  at 
any." 

"Oh,  Edgar,  what  an  object-lesson  for  you !" 
Kathleen  clasped  her  hands. 

"Oh,  of  course!"  ejaculated  Edgar,  his  even 
teeth  very  much  clenched. 

"You  ought  to  go  to  see  him!" 

"So  I've  heard,"  with  intense  sarcasm. 
"Mother  has  bored  the  life  out  of  me." 

"  It  is  n't  civil  not  to,"  said  Kathleen,  re- 
lapsing into  languor.  "He's  a  sort  of  a  rela- 
tive." 

"Yes.  The  sort  to  keep  away  from.  If  I  went 
up  there,  it  would  be  to  take  his  mahl-stick  and 
smash  his  face." 

109 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Nice,  hospitable  plan,"  remarked  Kathleen. 
"Possibly  he  would  n't  permit  it." 

"Oh,  I've  no  doubt  he'd  think  it  was  real 
mean  and  pick  up  a  fan  and  slap  me  on  the 
wrist.  Oh,  forget  him!  Say,  Kath,"  as  if  with 
sudden  remembrance,  "  do  you  know  I  came  off 
without  my  purse  to-day?" 

The  girl's  eyes  gained  a  curious  expression. 
She  was  silent  a  moment,  hands  clasped  around 
her  knee.  Under  her  gaze  her  brother  picked  up 
the  guitar  again  and  his  nervous  fingers  swept 
the  strings. 

"I  thought  you  said  this  was  a  business  trip." 

"  It  is.  Go  down  and  ask  them  at  the  bank  if 
I  did  n't  put  a  bee  in  their  bonnet  this  morn- 
ing." 

"Then  the  house  pays  your  expenses.  Your 
purse  did  n't  have  to  suffer." 

"Oh,  well,  if  you  want  the  literal  truth,  I'm 
flat  broke." 

"You  always  are  flat  broke  at  this  time  in  the 
month.  Why  should  n't  /  be  ?  —  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  I  am." 

Edgar  frowned.  "What  have  you  been 
buying?" 

"A  new  microscope.  I've  saved  for  it, 
Edgar." 

no 


Brother  and  Sister 

The  girl  cast  a  warm  glance  across  the  room 
to  where,  on  a  table,  stood  a  tall  slender  object 
covered  with  a  cloth. 

"Saved  for  it!"  was  the  disgusted  response. 
"Shameful  idea  when  the  Ad.  could  just  as  well 
buy  you  an  observatory." 

"  I  don't  believe  father  is  nearly  as  rich  as  you 
think  he  is,"  said  the  girl  defensively. 

"He's  the  prize  tight-wad.  That's  what  he 
is.  Look  at  our  summers!  Is  n't  it  enough  that 
instead  of  Newport  the  Fabians  rusticate  on 
Brewster's  Island?" 

"He  met  mother  there.  He  loves  it." 

"Well,  I  can  tell  you,  mother  would  exchange 
a  whole  lot  of  sentiment  for  one  good  whirl  at 
Newport  or  some  other  place  where  there  are 
live  ones!  Say,  Kath,  be  a  good  fellow.  You 
can  spare  a  dime  or  so.  Ten  dollars  would  be 
better  than  nothing.  I  '11  give  it  back  the  first  of 
the  month,  honor  bright.  Think  of  my  having  to 
depend  on  taxis !  It  would  make  angels  weep." 

The  sister  continued  to  regard  him  and  he 
reddened  under  the  pensive  gaze,  and  twanged 
the  guitar. 

"You  never  have  paid  me  back  the  first  of 
the  month  and  I  wish  you  would  n't  promise," 
she  said  at  last;  "but  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do. 

Ill 


The  Inner  Flame 

I'm  coming  home  to  spend  Sunday  and  I  will 
give  you  the  ten  dollars  —  it's  all  I  have  just 
now  —  if  you  will  take  me  to  see  that  cousin 
of  ours." 

"What  cousin?"  asked  Edgar. 

"Aunt  Mary's  heir.  The  artist." 

"Why  are  you  determined  to  stuff  him  down 
my  throat?  He  is  absolutely  no  kin  to  us  and 
has  no  demand  on  us.  I  decline." 

"Then  I  shall  go  with  mother,"  declared 
Kathleen,  in  her  laziest  drawl.  "  I  'm  sure  she 
will  take  me.  I  am  interested  in  his  determina- 
tion. I  want  to  see  —  his  oil  stove.  I  want  to 
pat  Pegasus." 

"Go,  then,  and  much  good  may  it  do  you!" 
Edgar  put  down  the  guitar  and  started  up. 
"Where's  the  ten,  Kath  ?  Awful  sorry  to  bother 
you." 

The  girl  did  not  rise.    She  shook  her  head. 

"You  haven't  earned  it.  I've  decided  you 
must  work  for  this  one,  before  it  follows  its 
predecessors  to  that  bourne  from  which  no 
bank-note  returneth." 

There  was  an  unusual  sparkle  in  the  eyes  that 
met  the  blue  ones. 

"You  said  you  could  go  with  mother,"  pro- 
tested Edgar. 

112 


Brother  and  Sister 

"I  can  if  I  have  to,  but  I  prefer  to  hunt  up 
stables  with  a  man." 

"Oh,  confound  it!  you  always  get  your  own 
way.  Fork  over,  then.  I'll  go  with  you;  but 
it  just  means  fastening  him  right  on  us.  We'll 
be  cousins  then  for  sure." 

Kathleen  went  to  her  closet  and  reappeared 
with  the  ten  dollar  bill.  With  a  gesture  of  fare- 
well she  touched  her  finger  to  her  lips  and  be- 
stowed the  kiss  on  the  bank-note. 

Her  brother  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Great  Scott!  I've  got  to  hike  for  that 
train,"  he  said;  and  wriggling  into  his  overcoat 
he  kissed  his  sister's  cheek,  and  hurried  away. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   FLITTING 

IT  was  Eliza's  last  day  in  the  apartment.  Out 
of  respect  to  probable  scruples  on  the  part  of 
her  future  hostess  as  to  travelling  on  Sunday, 
she  had  planned  to  sit  idle  this  Sabbath  day, 
although  everything  was  packed  and  she  was 
ready  to  start. 

j  By  Mrs.  Wright's  advice  she  had  sold  nearly 
all  the  shabby  furnishings  of  the  apartment. 
She  had  eaten  a  picnic  luncheon  in  the  forlorn 
kitchen,  from  whence  even  the  gambolling 
kittens  had  fled  to  the  bottom  of  Eliza's  trunk, 
and  now  sat  on  a  camp-chair  in  the  middle  of 
the  empty  parlor,  as  solitary  as  Alexander  Sel- 
kirk on  -his  island,  monarch  of  all  she  surveyed, 
which  was  a  pair  of  green  eyes  glowering  at  her 
from  behind  the  wire  network  in  the  side  of  a 
wicker  basket,  which  reposed  on  the  only  other 
chair  in  the  room. 

Stern  and  inexorable  looked  Eliza  sitting  in 
state  on  the  camp-chair,  and  furious  glared  the 
jewel  eyes  back  at  her. 

114 


The  Flitting 

"You've  got  to  get  used  to  it,  Pluto,"  she 
said.  "Do  you  suppose  I  like  it  any  better  than 
you  do?  I  don't  know  as  you  're  so  bad  off 
either.  I  think  I  'd  like  to  be  put  in  a  bag  and 
carried  to  Brewster's  Island  with  no  care  of 
cars  or  boats  or  anything  else.  You  always  do 
get  the  best  of  it." 

Eliza  looked  very  haggard.  It  had  been  a 
wrenching  week,  packing  her  dear  one's  belong- 
ings, and  selling  into  careless,  grudging  hands 
the  old  furniture  with  its  tender  associations. 

Philip  had  been  too  busy  to  come  to  her  aid. 
They  had  exchanged  notes.  She  had  addressed 
him  at  the  Fabians',  and  he  had  replied  that  he 
had  taken  a  room,  and  asked  that  his  belongings 
be  stacked  up  somewhere.  He  promised  that  he 
would  come  for  them  early  Sunday  afternoon. 

So  now  she  was  waiting,  her  capable  hands 
folded  in  her  black  alpaca  lap,  and  her  face  ex- 
pressing endurance. 

"I'm  countin'  the  hours,  Pluto,"  she  de- 
clared. "This  place  is  misery  to  me  now.  I  feel 
just  as  much  in  a  strange  garret  as  you  do  in 
that  basket.  I  just  wish  Mr.  Sidney  'd  come 
and  take  his  things  and  then  there  won't  be 
much  more  daylight  to  look  around  here  in. 
And  I  hope  you  won't  act  like  all  possessed 


The  Inner  Flame 

when  we  start  for  the  train  nor  when  we  get  on 
it." 

"Meow!"  cried  Pluto,  exasperated. 

"There  now!"  exclaimed  Eliza,  in  trepida- 
tion —  "you  do  that  just  once  when  the  tram's 
standin'  still,  and  where  '11  we  be !  I  Ve  always 
thought  you  had  a  little  more  intelligence  than 
the  law  allows;  and  if  you  go  to  actin'  like  an 
alley  cat  you'll  disappoint  me  dreadfully!" 

Eliza  rose  anxiously  and  threw  herself  on  her 
knees  beside  the  basket  and  opened  it.  Pluto 
sprang  out,  and  she  caught  him  and  pressed  her 
thin  cheek  against  his  fur  in  a  rare  caress.  Her 
eyes  stung  in  her  effort  to  repress  tears. 

"Oh,  law!  I  'm  sick  o'  myself,"  she  muttered. 
"Cryin'!  cryin'!  gracious,  what  a  fool!  I'd 
ought  to  sold  you  to  somebody,  I  suppose,"  — 
she  clung  tighter  to  the  handsome  creature 
and  buried  her  eyes  in  his  glossy  coat, — "or 
given  you 'away,  more  likely.  Who'd  want  to 
pay  anything  for  a  cat  that  don't  know  how 
bothersome  it's  goin'  to  be  to  get  the  right  train, 
and  has  n't  the  decency  to  keep  his  mouth  shut, 
and  —  Oh!"  as  a  knock  sounded  on  the  door. 
"There  he  is  now." 

The  glow  of  Eliza's  one  interview  with  Mrs. 
Ballard's  heir  had  faded  long  ago.  The  sordid 

116 


The  Flitting 

and  wounding  events  of  the  week  had  eclipsed 
whatever  cheer  he  had  brought  her,  and  it  was 
only  as  one  of  the  events  of  her  flitting  that  she 
looked  forward  to  his  advent  this  afternoon, 
and  the  departure  of  the  last  and  most  intimate 
of  her  dear  one's  possessions. 

The  knock  on  the  door  preceded  its  immedi- 
ate opening. 

"May  I  come  in?" 

The  long  step  took  the  little  hall  in  three 
strides. 

r  The  sight  that  met  the  newcomer's  eyes  was 
the  bare  room,  with  Eliza  kneeling  in  front  of 
an  open  basket,  clasping  Pluto  to  her  breast. 
The  woman's  face  and  posture  were  dramatic. 

"Deserted!"  was  the  word  that  rose  to  Phil's 
lips,  but  he  repressed  it.  He  would  not  twit  on 
facts;  but  his  all-observing  eyes  shone. 

"I'm  always  wanting  to  paint  you,  Eliza," 
he  said.  "  Sometime  I  will,  too." 

"Me!"  returned  Eliza  drearily.  "You'll  be 
hard  up  when  you  take  me." 

"So  far  as  that  goes,  I'm  hard  up  now. 
That's  chronic,"  responded  Phil  cheerfully. 
"What  are  you  doing  —  not  taking  leave  of 
that  king  among  cats?  If  you're  leaving  him 
behind,  I  speak  for  him." 

117 


The  Inner  Flame 

"H'm!"  exclaimed  Eliza,  loosening  her  clasp 
of  her  pet  and  rising.  "You'd  made  a  bad 
bargain  if  you  took  Pluto."  She  removed  the 
basket  from  its  chair.  "  Sit  down,  Mr.  Sidney," 
she  said  wearily,  resuming  her  own  seat.  "It's 
too  forlorn  for  you  to  stay,  but  maybe  you'd 
like  to  ketch  your  breath  before  you  take  the 
things." 

Philip  picked  up  the  basket  and  looked  curi- 
ously at  its  wire  window. 

"Yes,"  continued  Eliza.  "  I  'm  taking  Pluto, 
so  I  had  to  have  that.  It  was  an  extravagance, 
and  he  ain't  worth  it.  I  despise  to  see  folks 
cartin'  cats  and  dogs  around.  I  did  n't  think 
I'd  ever  come  to  it;  but  somehow  I'm  —  used 
to  that  selfish  critter,  and  he's  —  he's  all  the 
folks  I  Ve  got.  It  never  once  came  to  me  that 
you 'd  take  him." 

"Indeed  I  would,"  replied  Phil;  "and  wait 
till  you  see  the  place  I  have  for  him.  Rats  and 
mice  while  you  wait,  I  suppose,  though  I 
have  n't  seen  any  yet." 

"Oh,  well,"  returned  Eliza  hastily,  her  eyes 
following  Pluto  as  he  rubbed  himself  against 
Phil's  leg.  "  I  Ve  got  the  basket  now.  I  guess 
I  '11  have  to  use  it." 

"It's  a  shame  I  haven't  been  here  to  help 
118 


The  Flitting 

you,"  said  Phil.  "You've  had  a  hard  week,  I 
know,  but  I've  had  a  busy  one." 

"You've  got  a  room,  you  say,"  said  Eliza 
listlessly.  "Rats  and  mice.  That  don't  sound 
very  good." 

Phil  smiled.  "I  don't  know,  —  as  I  say,  I 
have  n't  seen  them  yet;  but  Pluto  would  be  a 
fine  guard  to  keep  them  off  my  blankets.  I 
don't  believe,  though,  there's  been  any  grain  in 
there  for  a  good  while." 

"Grain!"  repeated  Eliza. 

Phil  laughed.  "I'll  tell  you  about  it  later; 
but  first,  may  I  have  the  things?  I  have  an 
expressman  down  at  the  door.  I  rode  over  here 
with  him  in  state.  Good  thing  I  did  n't  meet 
Mrs.  Fabian." 

Eliza's  thin  lip  curled  as  she  rose.  She  led 
Philip  to  a  room,  in  the  middle  of  which  was 
gathered  a  heterogeneous  collection  of  articles. 
"In  this  box  is  the  paintin'  things,"  she  said, 
touching  a  wooden  case.  "  In  this  barrel  is  some 
dishes.  I  could  n't  get  anything  for  'em  any- 
way, and  you  wrote  you  was  going  to  get  your 
own  breakfasts." 

"Capital,"  put  in  Phil;  "and  here's  a  bed- 
stead." 

"Yes,  and  the  spring  and  mattress,"  re- 
119 


The  Inner  Flame 

turned  Eliza.    "It's  Mrs.   Ballard's  bed.    I 
could  n't  sell  it." 

Philip  regarded  the  disconnected  pieces  dubi- 
ously —  "I  guess  I 'd  have  to  be  amputated  at 
the  knees  to  use  that." 

"Well,"  -Eliza  shook  her  head  quickly. 
"Take  it  anyway,  and  do  what  you've  a  mind 
to  with  it,  only  don't  tell  me.  The  beddin'  's  in 
the  barrel  with  the  dishes  —  you  said  you  'd  be 
glad  of  a  chair,  so  here 's  one,  and  the  two  in  the 
parlor  are  for  you.  You  can  take  'em  right 
along.  I  have  n't  got  very  long  to  wait  anyway. 
I  calc'late  to  go  to  the  station  early." 

Phil  touched  her  shoulder  with  his  hand. 

"I'll  see  that  you  get  to  the  station  early 
enough." 

"You  must  n't  think  o'  me,"  said  Eliza,  as 
Phil  picked  up  some  of  the  furniture  and  started 
for  the  stairs. 

When  he  returned  for  the  next  load  he  brought 
the  expressman  with  him.  Together  they  took 
the  last  of  the  articles  down  the  stairway. 

Eliza  stood  at  the  top  and  watched  the  final 
descent. 

"Good-bye  Mr.  Sidney,"  she  said. 

He  smiled  brightly  up  at  her  across  a  couple 
of  chairs,  and  the  easel. 

1 20 


The  Flitting 

"Good-bye  for  five  minutes." 

"No,  no,"  said  Eliza;  "don't  you  come 
back."  She  winked  violently  toward  the  re- 
ceding cap  of  the  expressman.  "You'd  better 
ride  right  over  with  the  things  just  the  way 
you  came." 

"All  right,"  responded  Phil  laughing.  "Bon 
voyage!  " 

"Hey?"  asked  Eliza. 

"Have  a  good  trip.  My  respects  to  Pluto." 

She  went  back  into  the  apartment  and  closed 
the  door.  It  seemed  emptier,  stiller  than  ever 
after  the  little  flurry  of  moving. 

"It  was  clever  of  him,"  she  thought  grate- 
fully, "not  to  let  the  other  man  handle  the 
easel." 

'  Now,  indeed,  desolation  settled  upon  Eliza 
Brewster.  Pluto's  short  tail  stiffened  in  the 
majestic  disapproval  with  which  he  walked 
about  the  room  in  search  of  an  oasis  of  comfort. 

Eliza  heard  his  protesting  meows.  She  stood 
still  at  the  window  looking  out  on  the  grey 
November  sky.  "  I  have  n't  got  a  chair  to  sit 
down  on,  Pluto,"  she  said.  "It's  got  past 
cryin'!" 

She  took  out  the  gold-faced  watch  that  was 
ticking  against  her  thin  bosom.  Two  hours  yet 

121 


The  Inner  Flame 

before  there  would  be  any  reason  in  going  to  the 
station.  Suddenly  it  occurred  to  her  that  she 
had  placed  flannel  in  the  bottom  of  the  cat's 
travelling-basket.  This  would  be  the  golden 
opportunity  to  endear  the  spot  to  his  forlorn 
feline  heart. 

She  tucked  the  watch  back  in  its  hiding- 
place.  "Here,  kitty,  kitty,  kitty!"  she  cried. 

No  response.  The  receding  meows  had  ceased. 
She  looked  perplexed;  then  an  illuminating 
thought  occurred  to  her.  Tables  there  were 
none,  but  the  square  top  of  the  kitchen  range 
remained.  On  this  she  had  spread  clean  papers 
and  upon  them  had  laid  her  coat  and  hat,  and 
the  shabby  boa  and  muff  of  black  astrachan 
which  had  belonged  to  her  dear  one. 
(  She  hastened  down  the  hall.  Her  intuition 
had  not  failed.  Upon  this  bed,  his  glossy  coat 
revealing  the  rustiness  of  the  garments,  lay 
Pluto  curled  up,  regardless  of  vicissitudes. 

Eliza  had  scarcely  swept  him  off  his  bed  when 
the  outer  door  of  the  apartment  opened  again, 
and  closed. 

"There,"  called  a  cheerful  voice;  "that's 
finished.  Business  before  pleasure." 

Eliza  hastened  out  into  the  hall.  "You,  Mr. 
Sidney?"  she  exclaimed  in  surprise.  "Why, 

122 


The  Flitting 

you  have  n't  had  time  to  get  over  there.  Is 
your  room  so  near?" 

"Oh,  no.  We've  been  making  the  wagon 
artistically  safe,  so  as  not  to  smash  any  of  Aunt 
Mary's  valuables."  The  speaker,  strong  and 
breezy,  smiled  reassuringly  into  Eliza's  anxious 
face. 

"You'd  ought  to  gone  with  him,"  she  said. 
"Do  you  suppose  the  folks  '11  let  him  in  all 
right." 

1  "There  are  n't  any  folks  but  English  spar- 
rows," returned  Phil.  "I  don't  think  they'll 
object." 

"What  are  you  sayin'?"  demanded  Eliza. 
"If  there's  a  house  in  this  city  where  there 
ain't  any  folks,  I  did  n't  know  it.  It's  queer, 
ain't  it,  Mr.  Sidney,  that  it's  folks  make  loneli- 
ness. Now,  this  buildin'  's  running  over  with 
folks,  but  there  ain't  an  apartment  where  I 
could  go  in  and  say  good-bye.  They're  always 
movin'  in  and  movin'  out  like  ants,  and  it  makes 
it  worse  than  if  there  was  nobody.  It  was  clever 
of  you  to  come  back,  but  don't  you  stay,  'cause 
there  ain't  any  place  to  sit  but  the  floor,  and 
I'm  going  in  just  a  few  minutes  to  leave  the  key 
where  I  promised  the  agent  I  would,  and  then 
on  to  the  station." 

123 


The  Inner  Flame 

"When  does  your  train  go?"  asked  Phil. 

"  I  ain't  just  certain,"  replied  Eliza  evasively. 
"I'll  get  there  in  good  season." 

"I'm  sure  you  will."  Phil's  eyes  looked  very 
kind.  "How  did  you  happen  to  take  a  night 
train?" 

"Well,  I  did  n't  know  as  Mrs.  Wright  would 
want  me  to  travel  on  Sunday." 

"Is  n't  it  Sunday  in  the  afternoon?" 

"Not  after  six  o'clock,"  replied  Eliza  hastily. 
"We  could  play  dominoes  after  six  o'clock  when 
I  was  a  youngster." 

"Aha,"  said  Phil.  "Then  that  train  does  n't 
go  till  after  six.  It  is  n't  yet  three." 

"Now,  Mr.  Sidney,"  —  Eliza  was  frowning 
at  her  own  blunder,  -  "I  wish  you  would  n't 
trouble  yourself.  The  station's  nice  and  warm. 
I  expect  Pluto  '11  act  like  all  possessed,  but  I 
did  n't  calc'late  to  have  any  comfort  with  him. 
I'd  been  practisin'  with  him  in  the  basket  be- 
fore you  came  to-day." 

Eliza's  careworn  brow  went  to  her  visitor's 
heart. 

"Where  are  you  to  leave  the  key?  I '11  take  it 
for  you." 

"Oh,  you  need  n't.  It's  the  janitor,  right 
here  in  the  buildin'." 

124 


The  Flitting 

"Then  it's  all  clear  sailing,"  said  Phil.  "Get 
on  your  things,  Eliza." 

"It's  a  little  early,"  she  demurred.  "If  it 
was  n't  for  Pluto  I  would  n't  care;  but  you  go 
along,  Mr.  Sidney,  and  don't  think  anything 
more  about  us.  You  ought  to  go  and  see  that 
those  goods  get  in  all  right." 

"We'll  be  there  to  meet  them.  Do  you  sup- 
pose I  would  let  you  leave  New  York  without 
seeing  where  I'm  going  to  live?  And  do  you 
suppose  I  'd  let  you  out  of  my  sight  anyway  till 
I  put  you  on  the  train?" 

"Dear  me!"  returned  Eliza,  fluttered,  but 
feeling  as  if  the  sun  had  suddenly  peeped 
through  the  November  clouds.  "I  never 
thought  -  "  she  stopped  undecidedly. 

"Well,  I  did,"  said  Phil  heartily.  "It's  a 
shame  that  I  have  n't  helped  you  any  this  hard 
week.  Where 's Pluto?" 

"He  may  be  back  on  the  stove  again,"  re- 
turned Eliza.  "I  don't  dare  take  my  eyes  off 
him."  She  moved  quickly  toward  the  kitchen, 
and  there  on  her  habiliments  lay  the  cat;  but 
at  sight  of  her  he  leaped  guiltily  to  the  floor. 

Phil,  following,  laughed.  "Well,  things  have 
come  to  a  pretty  pass  when  you  have  to  hang 
your  coat  up  on  the  stove."  He  looked  about 

125 


The  Inner  Flame 

the  spotless  place.  "  I  wonder  if  this  apartment 
will  ever  be  so  clean  again." 

"Oh,  I'm  clean,"  admitted  Eliza.  "Mr. 
Sidney,"  —  she  paused  again,  her  coat  in  her 
hand,  and  faced  him,  —  "you  don't  want  to  go 
traipsing  through  the  streets  o'  New  York  with 
an  old  woman  and  a  cat!" 

"That's  where  you  're  wrong,"  returned  Phil. 
"You're  the  only  girl  I  have  in  town.  It's 
highly  proper  that  we  should  go  walking  of  a 
Sunday  afternoon.  You  get  on  your  things,  and 
I'll  wrestle  with  Pluto." 

The  cat,  suspecting  that  whatever  plan  was 
afoot  was  not  entirely  according  to  his  taste, 
led  Phil  a  short  chase;  but  all  the  havens  which 
usually  harbored  his  periods  of  rebellion  having 
disappeared,  he  was  soon  captured,  and  when 
Eliza,  hatted  and  coated,  entered  the  living- 
room,  Phil  had  laid  the  cat  on  the  flannel  in  the 
bottom  of  the  basket,  and  was  keeping  him 
there  by  reassuring  caresses. 

"Ain't  he  just  as  kind  as  he  can  be!" 
thought  Eliza. 

"Ready?"  asked  Phil,  and  closed  the  basket. 
He  met  Pluto's  gaze  through  the  window. 

"It's  all  right,  old  chap,"  he  laughed. 

He  was  not  unmindful  of  the  advantage  of  this 
126 


The  Flitting 

diversion  of  Eliza's  mind,  in  leaving  the  apart- 
ment forever.  He  had  a  green  memory  of  her 
stormy  emotion.  He  tried  to  take  the  key  from 
her  now  as  they  stepped  outside. 

"No,"  she  said  briefly,  "I'll  close  this  chap- 
ter myself,"  and  she  locked  the  door. 

Philip  balanced  the  basket  ostentatiously. 
"Believe  me,"  said  he,  "Pluto  is  some  cat! 
How  did  you  expect  to  get  on  with  him 
alone?" 

"  I  calc'lated  to  get  a  boy,"  replied  Eliza  in  an 
Unsteady  voice.  Memories  were  crowding  her. 

"Well,  you  have  one,"  returned  Phil,  leading 
the  way  downstairs. 

"But  I'm  strong,  too.  You've  heard  about 
the  woman  that  carried  the  calf  uphill  every 
day  till  it  was  a  cow  ?  I  've  had  Pluto  ever  since 
his  eyes  was  open." 

"Well,  you'd  need  some  hill-climbing  with 
him  to  fit  you  for  taking  the  elevated." 

"Yes,  I  did  some  dread  those  steps.  It's 
certainly  clever  of  you,  Mr.  Sidney.  They  say 
the  lame  and  the  lazy  are  always  provided 
for." 

Thus  Eliza  Brewster  left  her  home  of  years. 
She  gave  the  key  to  the  janitor  and  went  out 
into  the  dull,  damp  November  afternoon  with 

127 


The  Inner  Flame 

her  strong  escort,  whose  good  cheer  again  im- 
pressed her  consciousness  as  a  wonderful  thing 
to  have  any  relation  to  her  own  life. 

"You've  learned  your  way  around  real 
quick,"  said  Eliza  as  they  plunged  into  the 
nearest  subway  station. 

"This  is  all  bluff,  Eliza,  and  you're  the  most 
trustful  woman  in  the  world.  I  want  to  go 
somewhere  near  Gramercy  Park;  but  if  we 
come  out  at  Harlem  I  shall  try  to  look  as  if  I 
lived  there." 

"  Gramercy  Park ! "  exclaimed  Eliza ;  and  she 
thought—  "Well,  at  that  rate,  Mrs.  Ballard's 
money  won't  last  long." 

"I  did  n't  know,"  she  said  aloud,  "as  you'd 
feel  like  gettin'  a  room  in  a  real  fashionable 
neighborhood." 

"I'll  bet,"  she  thought  acutely,  "that's  Mrs. 
Fabian's  doin's." 

The  subway  train  came  crashing  in,  and 
Pluto  crouched  in  his  basket. 

Eliza's  suspicions  and  anxieties  increased 
as,  after  leaving  the  subway,  their  journey 
continued;  and  when  they  finally  came  into  a 
region  of  old  and  aristocratic  dwellings,  her 
eyes  were  round  and  she  could  no  longer  keep 
silent.  It  was  an  outrage,  an  imposition,  to 

128 


The  Flitting 

have  influenced  the  young  art-student  to  com- 
mit himself  to  a  home  in  these  surroundings. 

"I'd  'a'  been  a  whole  lot  better  person  to  'a* 
helped  you  find  a  place  than  Mrs.  Fabian,"  she 
said,  more  and  more  impressed  with  the  incon- 
gruity of  the  situation.  To  be  sure,  Phil  looked 
like  a  prince  and  fit  for  any  environment;  but 
not  while  trudging  along  with  a  shabby,  grey- 
haired  woman,  and  carrying  a  cat-basket. 

"I  know,  I  know,  Eliza,"  he  returned,  with 
gay  recognition  of  her  perturbation  and  dis- 
approval. "I'm  sorry  sometimes  that  elegance 
and  luxury  are  necessary  to  me.  It's  the  pen- 
alty of  blue  blood.  Mrs.  Fabian  had  nothing  to 
do  with  this ;  but  I  had  to  find  my  level,  Eliza. 
Blood  will  tell." 

"You  said  rats  and  mice,"  she  returned 
mechanically.  "Are  you  sure  you've  got  the 
right  street?" 

"Sure  as  a  homing  pigeon;  —  by  the  way,  I 
might  keep  pigeons!  I  never  thought  of  it." 

"For  the  rats?"  inquired  Eliza  with  some 
asperity. 

She  had  always  heard  that  geniuses  were 
erratic.  Also  that  without  exception  they  were 
ignorant  of  the  value  of  money.  Poor  Mrs. 
Ballard !  What  a  small  space  of  time  it  would 

129 


The  Inner  Flame 

take  for  her  little  capital  to  be  licked  up  as  by  a 
fierce  heat. 

"This  way,"  cried  her  escort,  and  swung 
Pluto's  basket  triumphantly  as  he  turned 
abruptly  into  an  alley. 

Eliza  caught  her  breath  in  the  midst  of  her 
resentment.  "You  do  go  in  the  back  way, 
then." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it!"  retorted  Phil.  "My  proud 
spirit  could  n't  brook  anything  like  that."  He 
caught  Eliza's  arm  and  hurried  her  pace.  "We 
go  in  the  front  way,  please  take  notice!" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

AN   INTERRUPTED   TEA 

MORE  bewildered  every  moment,  Eliza  hurried 
along,  obediently,  and  in  a  minute  more  found 
herself  in  a  paved  yard  on  which  faced  a  stable 
built  of  stone  similar  to  the  fine  house  backing 
upon  it. 

Phil  threw  open  a  side  door  and  disclosed  the 
round,  good-natured  face  of  a  man,  leaning  back 
in  a  ragged  Morris  chair,  his  feet  on  a  deal  table. 

"Hello,  Pat.  I've  brought  my  best  girl  to 
show  her  my  room." 

The  Irishman  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  grinned 
politely. 

"They  have  old  girls  in  New  York,"  re- 
marked Eliza  drily. 

"Whativer  age  ye  are,  mum,"  said  Pat 
gallantly,  "ye  don't  look  it." 

They  passed  him  and  ascended  a  narrow 
stair.  "This  is  cement,  Mr.  Sidney,"  said 
Eliza,  "and  probably  no  mice." 

"That  settles  it,  Pluto,"  remarked  Phil. 
"You  for  the  island." 

131 


The  Inner  Flame 

He  ushered  his  companion  into  a  room, 
empty  but  for  a  deal  table  and  chair,  an  oil 
stove  with  a  saucepan  on  it,  and  a  couple  of 
piles  of  Indian  blankets,  two  of  which  were 
spread  on  the  floor  in  place  of  rugs.  One  end  of 
the  table  was  piled  with  sketches. 

"Well!"  exclaimed  Eliza.  "Why  did  you  — " 

"Because,"  interrupted  Phil  laconically,  and 
pointed  to  a  double  window  facing  north. 

"Take  off  your  things,  Eliza,"  he  added 
joyously,  beginning  to  unbutton  her  coat. 

"There  were  no  horses  that  I  saw,"  said  the 
bewildered  visitor. 

"Family  in  Europe,"  returned  Phil. 

"But  it's  warm  and  comfortable." 

"Have  to  keep  fires  on  account  of  the  plumb- 
ing. The  coachman  was  a  family  man  before 
master  and  mistress  departed,  and  they  kept 
house  in  two  rooms  up  here.  I  have  succeeded 
to  Mrs.  Maloney's  kitchen.  Behold  the  running 
water.  The  other  room  is  used  for  storage. 
Being  single,  Pat  got  the  job  of  caretaker  and 
sleeps  downstairs.  Can  you  suggest  an  im- 
provement?" 

If  Eliza  had  thought  Phil  handsome  before, 
she  stared  now  at  the  illumination  of  his  trium- 
phant face  as  his  eyes  questioned  her. 

132 


An  Interrupted  Tea 

She  smiled,  and  there  was  a  protesting 
scramble  in  the  basket. 

"Come  out,  Katze,  of  course,"  said  the  host, 
and,  stooping,  released  the  prisoner. 

Pluto  leaped  forth  and  made  a  tour  of  the 
room,  smelling  daintily  of  the  blankets. 

"Of  course,  when  I  get  Aunt  Mary's  things, 
you  know,"  continued  Phil. 

"I  wish  they'd  come,"  said  Eliza,  dazed  and 
smiling.  "I'd  like  to  see  how  they're  goin'  to 
look." 

"They'll  be  here  before  you  leave.  Now, 
take  the  Turkish  armchair,  Miss  Brewster,  and 
loll  back  while  I  talk  to  you;  and  pretty  soon 
we'll  have  some  tea." 

As  he  spoke  the  host  doubled  a  striped  blan- 
ket over  the  kitchen  chair  and  deposited  Eliza. 
She  felt  dumb  in  the  change  from  dismal  loneli- 
ness to  this  atmosphere  charged  with  vitality. 

Phil  threw  himself  on  the  blanket  at  her 
feet,  and  leaning  on  one  elbow  looked  up  into 
the  eyes  which  wandered  about  the  plastered 
room. 

"Made  to  order,  Eliza,  made  to  order,"  he 
assured  her.  "No  one  but  Mrs.  Fabian  knows 
where  I  am,  and  she's  not  likely  to  interrupt 


me." 


133 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Stables  ain't  just  in  her  line,"  said  Eliza. 
"  I  was  afraid,  comin'  up  the  street,  that  she  had 
led  you  into  extravagance." 

"Oh,  she  is  very  kind,"  laughed  Phil.  "She 
was  appalled  when  I  told  her  what  I  had  found, 
and  seemed  to  think  my  oil  stove  the  most 
pathetic  thing  in  the  world." 

"Yes,"  remarked  Eliza.  "Her  son  Edgar  'd 
find  some  trouble  livin'  this  way." 

"  I  have  n't  met  him  yet." 

"Nor Miss  Kathleen?" 

"No,  she's  at  school,  you  know.  Mrs.  Fabian 
has  been  very  good  to  me.  No  one  could  be 
kinder,  and  I'm  afraid  I've  been  a  rather  ab- 
sent-minded guest,  but  getting  started  has  been 
so  glorious.  Eliza,  I'm  the  most  fortunate 
fellow  in  the  world.  Just  think!  Even  no  paper 
on  these  walls!" 

Eliza  looked  with  disfavor  at  the  rough 
greyish  plaster. 

"T  would  be  more  cheerful  with  some  real 
pretty  pattern,"  she  said. 

Phil  laughed  and  caught  Pluto  by  the  back  of 
the  neck  as  he  was  passing,  and  lifted  him  over 
into  the  hollow  of  his  arm. 

"I  like  it  this  way,"  he  explained. 

Eliza  looked  down  at  him  admiringly.  "I 
134 


An  Interrupted  Tea 

wish  Mrs.  Ballard  could  'see  you  now,"  she 
said. 

"  I  wish  she  knew  what  she  has  done  for  me. 
It  seems  as  if  this  is  the  first  time  since  my 
childhood  that  I  have  known  peace." 

At  the  word  there  came  a  sound  of  voices 
from  below. 

"The  expressman!"  exclaimed  Phil,  and 
springing  to  his  feet  opened  the  door. 

"Sure;  go  right  up,"  they  heard  in  Pat's  rich 
brogue. 

"  I  'd  better  help  him,"  said  Phil,  and  went  to 
the  head  of  the  stair. 

What  met  his  astonished  gaze  was  a  large 
black  velvet  hat  ascending.  It  was  willowy  with 
drooping  feathers,  and  in  the  dimness  of  the 
narrow  stair  it  eclipsed  the  motive  power  which 
was  lifting  it.  In  his  amazement  Philip  stepped 
back  and  presently  met  a  slender  face  whose 
dark  eyes  were  lifted  to  his. 

"We're  taking  you  by  storm,  Mr.  Sidney," 
said  a  low,  slow  voice.  "I  hope  it's  not  incon- 
venient." 

Edgar  followed  close  behind.  "  I  tried  to  send 
your  man  up  ahead,"  he  said  stridently,  "but 
he  seemed  to  think  this  sort  of  thing  was  all 
right," 


The  Inner  Flame 

Philip  stood  back  a  pace  further  in  actual 
bewilderment,  and  Kathleen  Fabian  extended 
her  delicately  gloved  hand. 

"We're  the  Fabians,"  she  said,  examining 
her  host  with  quick  appraisement,  and  her 
smile  was  alluring. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Phil,  recovering  himself 
and  taking  the  hand.  "Very  kind  of  you,  I'm 


sure." 


"If  you  think  you're  easy  to  find,"  said 
Edgar  as  they  greeted,  "you're  much  mistaken. 
Mother  got  it  all  wrong,  as  usual." 

Philip  took  in  at  a  glance  the  dapper  form  of 
his  visitor.  He  had  not  been  insensible  of  Ed- 
gar's neglect  of  him  in  the  young  man's  own 
home ;  and  had  decided  that  Eastern  and  West- 
ern ideas  of  hospitality  must  differ  with  more 
than  the  width  of  a  continent. 

"Very  good  of  you,  I'm  sure,  to  stick  to 
it,"  he  returned  composedly.  "Come  into  my 
suite  and  overlook  its  shortcomings  if  you 


can." 


Eliza  had  risen,  startled. 

"I  suppose  you  both  know  Eliza  Brewster," 
continued  Phil.  "She  made  life  comfortable 
for  Aunt  Mary  so  many  years." 

Edgar  Fabian  jerked  his  blond  head  in  Eliza's 

136 


An  Interrupted  Tea 

direction.  "How  do,"  he  said;  but  the  host's 
tone  and  manner  constrained  Kathleen  to 
approach  the  grey-haired  woman,  and  again 
hold  out  the  delicate  hand. 

"Was  it  you  who  made  those  good  cookies 
Aunt  Mary  used  to  give  us?"  she  asked  slowly, 
looking  curiously  at  Phil's  guest. 

Eliza  allowed  the  white  glove  to  take  her 
bony  fingers  a  moment,  then  she  stepped  be- 
hind the  solitary  chair  and  set  it  forward  for  the 
visitor. 

The  girl  would  have  accepted  it,  but  Phil 
interposed. 

"Sit  down,  Eliza,"  he  said  good-humoredly. 
"Miss  Fabian  can  get  chairs  at  home.  I  am 
going  to  treat  her  with  truly  Oriental  magnifi- 
cence. Try  this,  Miss  Fabian."  The  host  indi- 
cated a  pile  of  Indian  blankets,  and  Kathleen 
sank  upon  them. 

Then  Phil  turned  to  Edgar,  who  reached  to 
the  host's  ear  as  he  stood  in  high-chested 
superiority  looking  about  the  apartment  with 
disfavor. 

"The  choice  of  soft  spots  is  small,"  said  Phil, 
"but  help  yourself.  There's  room  beside  your 
sister  here." 

Edgar  moved  to  the  pile  of  blankets  and  sat 
137 


The  Inner  Flame 

down;  while  Phil  dropped,  Turkish  fashion,  at 
Eliza's  feet  and  faced  them. 

"What  a  splendid  cat!"  said  Kathleen. 

"Yes,"  agreed  Phil.  "Come  here,  Katze,  and 
see  the  lady."  He  seized  Pluto  and  handed  him 
over  to  Kathleen." 

"Oh,  get  out,"  said  Edgar.    "I  hate  cats." 

His  sister  moved  Pluto  over  to  her  other  side 
where  he  drove  his  claws  into  the  blanket  with 
satisfaction  while  she  caressed  him. 

"He'll  soil  your  glove,"  said  Eliza;  "his  hair 
comes  out  some."  She  resented  the  Fabian 
touch  on  her  pet,  and  Edgar's  remark  had  sent 
color  to  her  sallow  cheeks. 

"I'd  like  a  muff  made  of  him,"  drawled 
Kathleen. 

"Too  late,"  said  Phil.  "He's  going  to  Maine 
to-night  with  Eliza." 

"He  is  n't  your  cat,  then?"  said  the  girl,  and 
brushed  her  glove. 

"No,  Eliza  refuses  to  give  him  to  me." 

"There's  that  oil  stove,"  remarked  Edgar. 
"I  don't  know  what  there  is  so  particularly 
virtuous  about  an  oil  stove;  but  mother  throws 
yours  at  me  every  time  we  have  an  argument." 

Philip  regarded  the  speaker  speculatively. 
Edgar's  voice  had  an  arrogant  quality,  which 

138 


An  Interrupted  Tea 

gave  no  idea  of  its  beauty  when  he  broke  into 
song.  "I'd  give  you  a  glimpse  of  its  virtues  if 
the  expressman  would  come,"  replied  the  host. 
He  smiled  up  at  Eliza  while  Kathleen  watched 
him.  "Did  you  put  in  cups  enough  for  all  of 
us?" 

"Six  cups  and  saucers,"  returned  Eliza,  "and 
six  plates,  and  six  knives  and  forks,  and  six 
spoons.  I  gave  you  the  plated  ones  'cause  then 
you  would  n't  care  if  they  were  stolen." 

"But  I  should  care,"  returned  Phil  gravely. 
"I  shall  search  every  departing  guest." 

"Indian  blankets,"  said  Edgar.  "They  sug- 
gest the  pipe  of  peace.  Let's  make  it  a  cigar- 
ette." He  took  out  his  case. 

"Only  one  room  here,"  remarked  Phil. 
"Perhaps  the  ladies  object." 

Edgar  grinned  at  his  sister.  "Do  you  object 
to  a  cigarette,  Kath  ? "  he  asked,  offering  her  the 
open  case. 

"Perhaps  Mr.  Sidney  is  not  a  smoker,"  she 
said,  "and  it  would  be  unsociable." 

The  same  curiosity  which  had  grown  in 
Phil's  eyes  as  he  regarded  young  Fabian,  now 
stole  into  them  as  they  met  Kathleen's. 

"I'm  almost  sure  Eliza  doesn't  indulge," 
said  the  host,  "and  perhaps  she  does  n't  like  it." 

139 


The  Inner  Flame 

"  Don't  think  of  me,  Mr.  Philip, "  exclaimed 
Eliza  hastily.  "This  is  your  house." 

"My  stable,  you  mean."  He  smiled.  "No, 
it's  yours  this  afternoon,  Eliza.  You're  to  give 
orders." 

"Then  you  may  smoke  to  your  hearts'  con- 
tent," she  responded  promptly;  and  she  sent  an 
inimical  look  toward  the  graceful  girl  in  the 
drooping  hat.  Let  her  smoke!  Eliza  hoped  she 
would,  and  let  Philip  Sidney  see  what  the 
Fabians  were. 

"Remove  my  sister's  scruples,  won't  you, 
Sidney?"  said  Edgar,  offering  his  case. 

Phil  took  a  cigarette,  and  Edgar  passed  them 
back  to  Kathleen. 

"No,  thanks,"  she  replied.  She  had  seen  the 
cool  curiosity  in  the  host's  eyes  as  they  rested 
upon  her  a  moment  ago. 

"Oh,  go  ahead,"  urged  Edgar. 

"I  don't  like  your  cigarettes,"  she  returned 
shortly,  annoyed  by  his  persistence.  A  deep 
color  grew  in  her  cheeks. 

"Wait  till  you  know  Kath  better,"  said 
Edgar  with  a  wink  toward  Philip.  "You'll 
welcome  any  little  human  touches  about  her. 
She's  at  the  most  painful  stage  of  her  college 
career  where  she  knows  everything;  and  she's 

140 


An  Interrupted  Tea 

one  of  these  high-brows ;  saves  money  —  good 
money  —  and  buys  microscopes  with  it!" 
The  utter  scorn  of  the  speaker's  tone,  as  he 
offered  Phil  a  light,  caused  the  latter  to  smile. 

"What  are  you  doing  with  a  microscope, 
Miss  Fabian  ? "  he  asked. 

"Hunting  for  an  honest  man,"  she  returned 
in  her  lingering  speech. 

"Stung!"  remarked  her  brother.  "Say,  I 
don't  see  any  symptoms  of  painting  up  here," 
he  added,  looking  around. 

"No;  you'll  have  to  come  down  to  the  aca- 
demy to  see  the  works  of  art  I  'm  throwing  off," 
said  Phil.  "I've  been  there  two  days." 

Now  there  was  another  stir  belowstairs  and 
this  time  it  really  was  the  expressman;  and 
Philip's  effects  began  to  come  upstairs. 

"I'm  afraid  we're  dreadfully  in  the  way," 
said  Kathleen;  while  Edgar  held  his  cigarette 
between  two  fingers  and  moved  about,  watch- 
ing the  invasion  of  barrels,  boxes,  and  bedstead, 
uncertain  whether  to  lend  a  hand.  "Aunt 
Mary's  old  duds,  as  I'm  alive!"  he  thought, 
seeing  Eliza's  anxious  supervision  of  each  piece 
as  Phil  came  carrying  it  in. 

" Agreatway  to  entertain  you,  Miss  Fabian," 
said  the  host  brightly. 

141 


The  Inner  Flame 

"What  can  I  do?"  inquired  Edgar  perfunc- 
torily, continuing  to  get  in  Phil's  way  with  the 
assiduity  of  a  second  Marcelline. 

"  If  you  won't  mind  being  put  on  the  shelf  for 
a  minute,"  said  Phil,  tired  of  avoiding  him, 
"I'm  going  to  tote  in  one  more  and  then  we're 
done."  And  picking  up  the  astonished  Edgar  he 
set  him  on  a  barrel  which  had  been  placed  in 
a  corner,  and  so  succeeded  in  bringing  in  the 
heaviest  of  the  boxes  undisturbed. 

Edgar,  very  red  in  the  face,  swung  his  patent 
leather  feet  for  a  minute  and  then  jumped  down. 
"We  must  be  going,  Kath,"  he  said  stiffly. 

"Not  till  you've  found  the  mahl-stick,"  she 
drawled,  with  stars  in  her  eyes.  "My  brother  is 
so  curious  about  your  painting  implements, 
Mr.  Sidney." 

"They're  in  these  boxes,"  responded  Phil. 
"The  very  ones  that  dear  little  Aunt  Mary 
used." 

He  had  paid  the  expressman  and  was  pulling 
down  his  cuffs.  His  guests  were  both  standing. 

"Personally,"  he  continued,  "  I  think  the 
contents  of  the  barrel  more  interesting  just 
now.  You  must  n't  go  without  a  cup  of  tea. 
One  moment  and  I  '11  make  a  raid  on  Pat  for  a 
hammer." 

142 


An  Interrupted  Tea 

Phil  left  the  room  and  Edgar  still  stood, 
quite  flushed  under  his  sister's  smile. 

"Do  you  want  any  tea?"  he  asked  severely. 

"I  think  I  do,"  replied  Kathleen. 

"I'll  send  the  car  back  for  you,  then." 

"Not  at  all,"  she  answered;  and  when  the 
girl's  voice  took  this  tone  and  her  eyes  nar- 
rowed, her  brother  usually  paid  attention. 
After  all,  Kathleen  was  a  useful  court  of  last 
appeal.  It  was  unwise  to  offend  her. 

"What's  the  matter?  Eliza  can  chaperone 
you,"  he  protested. 

Simultaneously  with  Phil's  disappearance 
Eliza  had  moved  to  the  window  and  looked 
out  on  the  advancing  twilight.  She  heard  the 
words,  and  her  thin  lips  tightened. 

"That's  the  very  cat  that  assaulted  and 
battered  mother,"  went  on  Edgar,  and  although 
he  lowered  his  voice  Eliza  heard  the  words  and 
smiled  grimly  at  a  neighboring  stable. 

Kathleen  frowned  and  motioned  with  her 
head  toward  the  black  alpaca  back. 

Edgar  shrugged  his  immaculate  shoulders. 

"Well,  tell  me  when  you  have  had  enough  of 
it,"  he  said,  and  threw  himself  back  on  the  pile 
of  blankets. 

Kathleen  was  just  planning  some  civil  over- 


The  Inner  Flame 

ture  to  Eliza  when  the  host  reappeared,  a 
hatchet  in  his  hand. 

"That  bold  son  of  Erin  dares  to  imply  that 
I  borrowed  his  hammer  yesterday,"  he  an- 
nounced. "If  I  did,  it  is  in  Mrs.  Maloney's 
closet;  and  if  there  it  is  as  a  needle  in  a  hay- 
stack; for  that  closet,  Miss  Fabian,  is  respon- 
sible for  the  air  of  chaste  elegance  you  observe 
in  this  apartment.  If  you  '11  all  stand  aside,  not 
to  be  bombarded  when  I  open  the  door,  I  will 
give  one  glimpse  within." 

Phil  opened  the  closet  door  cautiously,  and 
deftly  caught  a  mandolin  as  it  bounded  forth. 

"Sole  relic  of  glee-club  days,"  he  remarked. 
"  I  don't  know  why  I  brought  it,  for  I  could  n't 
play  *  Yankee  Doodle'  on  it  now." 

He  delved  further  into  the  closet,  and  Edgar, 
picking  up  the  mandolin  as  one  friend  in  a 
strange  land,  removed  it  from  its  case  with  slow 
and  condescending  touch. 

"Here's  the  hammer  on  the  sink,"  said  Eliza 
suddenly. 

"Saved!"  exclaimed  Phil,  pushing  back  bil- 
lowing folds  of  grey.  "  I  was  just  about  losing  in 
a  combat  with  a  bath-wrapper.  Now,  with  these 
chairs  and  the  hammer,  what  is  to  prevent  our 
salon  from  being  the  most  delightful  success?" 

144 


An  Interrupted  Tea 

"Nothing!"  exclaimed  Kathleen,  standing  at 
the  end  of  the  table.  "I  have  found  some 
sketches,  Mr.  Sidney.  May  I  look  at  them?" 

"Certainly."  The  artist  took  the  hammer 
and  began  an  attack  on  the  barrel  which  caused 
Edgar  to  raise  his  eyebrows  in  annoyance. 
He  was  testing  the  strings  of  the  mandolin. 

"Shall  I  light  the  stove?"  asked  Eliza. 

"No,  you're  the  guest  of  honor.  Sit  down, 
Eliza,  and  watch  us.  Mr.  Fabian  will  light  the 
stove." 

"Heaven  forbid,"  exclaimed  Edgar  de- 
voutly, "  that  I  should  touch  the  enemy  of  my 
peace!" 

Kathleen,  her  lip  caught  between  her  teeth 
as  she  turned  the  sketches  with  concentrated 
interest,  sent  an  ironical  glance  toward  her 
brother,  strumming  the  mandolin  on  the 
blanket  couch. 

"Yes,  you're  elected,  Fabian,"  said  Phil, 
deftly  removing  the  barrel-hoop.  "You  have 
the  matches.  You  see  the  peace  and  calm  on 
my  brow?  That  is  because  I  am  serene  in  the 
knowledge  of  a  lemon  and  a  bag  of  sugar  out- 
side on  the  window  ledge." 

Reluctantly  Edgar  laid  down  the  mandolin 
and  approached  the  stove. 

H5 


The  Inner  Flame 

"What  do  you  do?"  he  asked  superciliously. 
"Turn  on  something  at  the  bottom,  and  light  it 
at  the  top?" 

"Edgar,"  warned  his  sister,  "it  is  n't  gas." 

"Marrow-bones,  Fabian,  get  down  on  them," 
said  Phil  good-humo redly;  and  disgustedly 
Edgar  knelt  to  his  bete  noir. 

Eliza's  fingers  itched  to  help  him.  She  obeyed 
Phil's  warning  gestures  to  keep  her  seat  until 
the  match  was  finally  applied  to  the  wicks. 
Then,  seeing  that  they  were  turned  too  high, 
she  pounced  down  on  the  floor  beside  the  young 
man,  and  pushing  his  immaculate  arm  away 
she  lowered  the  wicks. 

Edgar  stared  at  the  familiarity.  "Excuse 
me,"  she  said  shortly. 

"Must  have  a  finger  in  the  pie,  eh?"  re- 
marked Phil. 

"Do  you  know  how  long  it'd  take  to  get  this 
room  so  full  o'  soot  we  could  n't  stay  in  it?" 
asked  Eliza.  "I  wonder  what  sort  of  a  mess 
you  're  goin'  to  live  in  here,  Mr.  Sidney,  if  you 
don't  know  that?" 

"It's  a  smokeless  one,"  protested  Phil 
meekly. 

"The  cat's  foot!"  quoth  Eliza  scornfully. 
"Don't  tell  me!  There's  no  such  thing."  She 

146 


An  Interrupted  Tea 

partly  filled  the  kettle  and  placed  it  on  the 
stove,  watching  the  wicks  with  a  jealous  eye. 

Edgar  removed  himself  from  danger  and 
looked  with  exasperation  at  Kathleen,  who  with 
eyes  aglow  was  turning  the  sketches. 

"  If  I  ever  worked  as  hard  for  tea  as  this  I  '11 
be  hung!"  he  thought,  and  returned  to  the 
mandolin  as  the  one  congenial  object  in  a  for- 
lorn abode. 

Even  its  long  silent  strings  spoke  plaintively 
against  the  vulgar  banging  which  was  removing 
the  barrel-head. 

"There!"  exclaimed  Phil  presently.  "I 
rather  fancy  the  way  I  did  that.  I  can  use 
that  barrel  again." 

"Yes,"  assented  Edgar  as  he  strummed, 
"for  kindlings  for  the  oil-stove." 

Phil  drew  the  barrel  nearer  the  table. 

"Now  for  the  plums  in  the  pudding,"  he  said, 
and  began  to  draw  forth  some  papered  cups 
from  the  excelsior. 

Kathleen  dropped  the  sketches  and  un- 
wrapped the  packages.  She  had  stood  three 
cups  and  saucers  on  the  table  before  Eliza 
turned  from  her  labors  about  the  stove. 

"What  delightful  old  things!"  exclaimed 
the  girl. 

H7 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Now,  are  n't  you  glad  you  stayed?"  asked 
Phil,  bringing  forth  a  silver  cream  pitcher  of 
long  ago. 

Eliza  caught  sight  of  the  table,  and  suddenly 
threw  up  both  hands  with  an  exclamation. 

"Mr.  Sidney!"  she  cried.  "I've  given  you 
the  wrong  barrel!" 

"What?  What's  happened?"  inquired  Phil, 
halted  by  her  tragic  tone. 

"All  Mrs.  Ballard's  best  things  are  in  that 
barrel;  the  old  china  that  was  her  mother's, 
and  the  solid  silver,  and  everything;  and  I've 
gone  and  sent  yours  with  the  substantial 
crockery  and  the  beddin'  to  the  island!" 

Edgar  Fabian  regarded  Eliza  as  inimically  as 
his  stepmother  might  have  done.  So  this  old 
servant  had  been  carrying  off  the  heirlooms 
and  been  discovered. 

He  sat  up  very  straight  on  his  blanket  couch. 

"  I  '11  speak  to  my  mother,"  he  said.  "  She  can 
come  over  to-morrow  and  get  them,  and  buy 
the  right  sort  of  thing  for  a  bachelor"  —  he 
threw  a  glance  around  the  plastered  room  — 
"apartment!" 

Phil,  not  realizing  the  sensitiveness  of  the 
subject,  laughed. 

"Good  work,  Eliza!  We'll  have  one  aristo- 
148 


An  Interrupted  Tea 

era  tic  tea  in  the  Sidney  studio,  before  we  fall  to 
stone  china  and  mugs." 

"The  others  ain't  stone  china  and  mugs," 
cried  Eliza.  She  was  trembling  from  head  to 
foot,  as  frightened  and  enraged  by  Edgar's  sug- 
gestion as  if  her  own  life  had  been  at  stake. 
"They're  all  good,  comfortable  things.  If  it 
was  safe  I  'd  leave  all  these  for  you,  Mr.  Philip, 
just  as  liefs  to  as  not,  for  she  loved  you;  but 
you  are  gone  all  day;  they'd  be  stole  —  just  as 
Mr.  Fabian  says." 

Edgar  blinked,  then  his  face  grew  scarlet  as 
the  servant's  implication  grew  upon  him. 

"What  do  you  mean  —  you  — !" 

He  leaped  to  his  feet  and  faced  Eliza,  who 
glared  back  at  him.  "These  things  should  be- 
long to  my  mother,"  he  said,  "and  it's  a  good 
thing  you  did  n't  succeed  in  getting  away  with 
them.  She  may  set  some  value  on  the  old  stuff. 
I  don't  know." 

"Edgar!"  exclaimed  Kathleen,  as  scarlet  as 
he,  while  the  duel  had  all  happened  so  suddenly 
that  the  host  stared,  dazed. 

He  had  just  lifted  another  silver  piece  from 
the  barrel  and  taken  it  from  its  flannel  bag. 

"They  do  not  belong  to  your  mother,"  re- 
turned Eliza  angrily.  "They  belong  to  me, 

149 


The  Inner  Flame 

to  have  and  to  hold,  or  to  give  away  as  I  see 
fit." 

Edgar  shrugged.  "Oh,  in  that  case — "  he 
returned.  He  did  n't  like  Eliza's  eyes. 

"In  that  case,"  said  Phil  to  him  gravely,  "I 
think  you'll  feel  better  to  apologize  to  the 
woman  who  has  put  Aunt  Mary's  relatives 
under  lifelong  obligation  for  her  devoted  care." 

Edgar  tossed  his  head  with  a  scornful 
grimace. 

"Yes,  I  understand  perfectly,"  went  on  Phil, 
coloring;  "Aunt  Mary  was  no  kin  to  you,  and 
I  understand  that  she  was  a  person  held  in  lit- 
tle consideration  by  your  family."  The  host's 
attitude  was  tense  now,  and  his  look  compel- 
ling. "Nevertheless,  Eliza  Brewster  happens 
to  be  my  honored  guest  to-day,  and  I'm  sure 
you  will  be  glad  to  express  your  regret  for  your 
choice  of  words." 

"Edgar,  you  did  n't  understand,"  said  Kath- 
leen. "Say  so.  Why,  of  course,  you're  glad 
to  say  so." 

"No,  I  did  n't  understand,"  remarked  Edgar 
with  a  languid  air,  strumming  the  mandolin, 
"  and  now  that  I  do,  I  don't  know  that  it  is  very 
interesting." 

Phil  saw  Kathleen's  acute  distress. 
150 


An  Interrupted  Tea 

"Very  sorry,  I'm  sure,"  continued  the  young 
man,  nodding  toward  Eliza.  "You  can  run 
away  with  your  barrel  and  welcome.  The  Fab- 
ians will  still  have  cups  and  saucers.  I  think," 
returning  Phil's  grave  gaze  contemptuously, 
"  if  your  honored  guest  should  apologize  for 
her  attack  on  my  mother,  it  would  be  quite  as 
much  to  the  point.  You  heard  her  say  that 
mother  would  come  over  and  steal  her  trash, 
didn't  you?  Come,  Kathleen."  The  speaker 
dropped  the  mandolin,  squared  his  shoulders, 
and  started  for  the  door. 

"No;  oh,  no!"  exclaimed  Phil,  all  his  hearty 
Western  hospitality  in  arms  at  the  sight  of  his 
girl  guest's  expression. 

Edgar  turned  on  him  again.  "I  fancied  that 
my  mother  had  been  rather  civil  to  you  since 
your  arrival.  I'll  tell  her  how  you  guard  her 
dignity." 

Edgar  was  fairly  swelling  with  emotion,  one 
fourth  of  which  was  indignant  defence  of  his 
mother,  and  three  fourths  joy  at  a  clear  case 
against  the  poverty-stricken  artist  who  had 
dared  set  his  own  sacred  person  on  a  barrel  and 
make  him  light  an  oil-stove. 

Kathleen's  scarlet  face  and  lambent  eyes 
spoke  her  distress.  Phil,  faced  with  condoning 


The  Inner  Flame 

the  slur  on  his  kind  hostess,  was  bewildered  and 
uncertain. 

Eliza  saw  it  all  and  was  the  most  disturbed 
of  the  four. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Fabian,  it's  all  my  fault!"  she  ex- 
claimed, looking  appealingly  at  Edgar.  "Please 
stay  for  tea." 

"Really,  you  know,"  said  Phil,  "this  is  all  a 
tempest  in  a  tea-pot."  He  held  up  Aunt  Mary's 
graceful  old-colonial  silver.  "This  one  would 
be  too  big  to  hold  it." 

"Come,  Kath,"  said  Edgar,  ignoring  them. 
"Will  you  come  with  me  or  shall  I  wait  for  you 
in  the  car?" 

Kathleen  gave  him  an  imploring  look,  but  he 
was  already  moving  to  the  door. 

Phil  took  an  impulsive  step  toward  her. 
"Perhaps  you  will  stay,"  he  said,  in  supreme 
discomfort.  She  gave  him  a  little  smile.  "No, 
I  must  n't,"  she  answered  gently.  "I'm  sorry  I 
had  n't  finished  looking  at  the  sketches." 

"May  I  bring  them  over  to  you?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  go  back  to  school  in 
the  morning.  Good-bye,  I  wish  you  all  suc- 


cess." 


Eliza  stood  with  tight-clasped  hands.  It  had 
been  her  fault  that  the  bud  of  an  acquaintance 

152 


An  Interrupted  Tea 

which  might  have  been  serviceable  to  her  young 
friend  had  been  blighted.  They  would  tell  Mrs. 
Fabian.  She  might  visit  her  anger  upon  him. 
Eliza  had  never  expected  to  feel  gratitude 
toward  one  of  the  name,  but  her  surprise  was 
mingled  with  that  sentiment  when  Kathleen 
now  approached  her,  laying  her  smooth  gloved 
hand  on  the  rough  clasped  ones  to  say  good-bye. 

"You  are  going  to  Brewster's  Island?"  she 
asked.  "It  is  a  strange  time  of  year." 

"Twas  my  home  once,"  replied  Eliza, 
tragedy  of  past  and  present  so  evident  in  her 
haggard  face  that  a  touch  of  pity  stirred  the 
girl's  heart. 

"I  heard,"  said  Kathleen,  "that Mrs.  Wright 
is  staying  there.  How  can  she  in  the  desolate 
winter?" 

"I  guess  angels  can  live  anywhere,"  re- 
sponded Eliza.  Her  disturbed  eyes  met  Kath- 
leen's. "Miss  Fabian,"  and  her  hard  hand 
grasped  the  gloved  one,  "  I  don't  care  how  cold 
the  winter 's  goin'  to  be  if  only  you  '11  promise 
me  that  I  have  n't  done  any  harm  to  this  boy 
here  by  my  foolish  talk.  He  ain't  to  blame  if  I 
seemed  to  —  to  speak  about  your  mother. 
Don't,  don't  let  her  blame  him  for  it.  If  I 
thought  she  would  —  if  I  thought  I  'd  cut  him 

153 


The  Inner  Flame 

off  from  friends  —  some  day  when  I  get  to 
thinkin'  about  it  up  there  on  that  hill  I  feel  as  if 
I  should  jump  into  the  water  and  done  with  it." 

"I'll  explain,"  said  Kathleen  gently.  "I 
hope  you  '11  have  a  good  winter.  I  'm  glad  you 
will  have  Mrs.  Wright." 

When  the  girl  turned  back,  Edgar  had  gone; 
and  the  veil  of  perfunctoriness  had  fled  from  her 
host's  eyes.  He  was  looking  at  her  as  friend  at 
friend. 

He  escorted  her  downstairs,  and  out  through 
the  alley  to  the  waiting  limousine  within 
which,  with  elevated  feet,  Edgar  was  already 
solacing  himself  with  a  cigarette.  At  sight  of 
the  approaching  pair,  he  leaped  from  the  car, 
and  received  his  sister  with  hauteur. 

"Good-bye,"  said  Phil  composedly,  when 
they  were  inside;  "very  good  of  you  to  come." 

He  closed  the  door,  the  machine  started,  and 
he  returned  to  the  stable,  where  Pat  received 
him  with  a  grin,  still  standing  where  he  had 
risen  when  Kathleen  passed  through  a  minute 
ago.  "I  say,  me  bye,"  he  said  huskily,  jerking 
his  thumb  in  the  direction  of  the  stairway,  "  the 
auld  one  above  there  —  she's  yer  second  best 
girl,  I  'm  thinkin'.  That  one,"  pointing  to  the 
street,  "she  do  be  a  princess  all  roight.  She 

154 


An  Interrupted  Tea 

turned  them  lamps  on  me  when  she  first  come 
in  and  asked  for  you,  and  I  felt  chape  'cause  the 
stairs  was  n't  marble;  but  look  out,  me  son,  I 
know  that  breed.  She  '11  make  ye  toe  the  mark." 

Phil  smiled.  "To  be  honest  with  you,  Pat, 
I  have  just  one  best  girl,"  he  said  emphatically. 

Pat  looked  up  at  him  with  admiration. 

"Is  she  in  New  York,  thin?" 

"Sometimes  I  think  I  shall  get  a  glimpse  of 
her  here." 

"Sure  if  she  knows  where  ye  are  ye  will, 
thin!"  said  Pat  devoutly.  "How  does  she  dress 
so  I'll  know  her?  I'll  be  on  the  watch." 

"Just  now  in  scarlet  and  gold,"  said  Phil, 
lifting  his  head  and  gazing  beyond  the  stable 
wall. 

"Faith,  she  knows  a  thing  or  two,"  nodded 
Pat.  "Tis  an  old  dodge,  'Red  and  Yeller, 
ketch  a  feller.'" 

"  In  winter  she  goes  all  in  white,"  said  Phil, 
"soft,  pure,  spotless." 

"Moighty  wasteful  fer  the  city!"  said  Pat 
seriously.  "  'T  will  be  hard  on  yer  pocket,  me 
bye." 

"In  spring  she's  in  golden-green  among  the 
browns,  but  in  summer,  full,  glorious  green, 
Pat.  Oh,  she's  a  wonderful  girl,  a  goddess!" 

155 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Sure  she  is  if  she  knows  that  green's  the 
best  of  all  the  game,"  exclaimed  the  Irishman. 
"Whin'llshebecomin'?" 

"Ah,  I  have  to  go  to  her,  Pat." 

"  T  is  better  so,"  agreed  the  other. 

"  I  Ve  thought  she  might  meet  me  sometime 
out  in  the  park." 

"She  can,  sir."  Pat  gave  Phil's  shoulder  a 
sounding  slap. 

"But  I  notice  the  park  gate  is  kept  locked." 

"It  is,"  agreed  Pat,  with  shining  face,  "and 
't  is  meself  has  a  key.  T  will  be  yours  for  the 
askin'  any  day  in  the  week." 

"Great!"  responded  Phil.  "I'll  remember 
that." 

"And  sure  I'll  be  lookin',"  thought  Pat, 
watching  the  artist  take  the  stairway  in  bounds. 
"The  women '11  mob  that  bye  afore  he  gets 
through.  Sure  I'd  like  to  see  the  gurl  brings 
that  look  to  his  eyes." 


CHAPTER  IX 

HEIRLOOMS 

As  the  Fabian  car  started  toward  home,  Edgar 
hoped  his  sister  would  rally  him  on  his  failure  to 
chastise  the  puny  artist  from  the  West.  Any- 
thing was  better  than  one  of  Kathleen's  "  stills," 
as  he  called  his  sister's  periods  of  scornful 
silence.  He  was  Kathleen's  elder,  he  was  her 
brother.  By  every  law  of  propriety  she  should 
be  guided  by  him  and  lean  upon  his  opinions; 
but  as  he  now  reflected  she  was  "more  apt  to 
jump  on  them." 

At  present  her  sombre  eyes  looked  straight 
ahead  under  the  picture  hat,  and  her  counte- 
nance expressed  only  composure  of  mind  and 
body.  He  had  thrown  away  his  cigarette,  and 
he  began  to  hum  the  favorite  aria  from  "Ma- 
dam Butterfly."  Kathleen,  if  she  spoke  at  all, 
would  probably  try  to  persuade  him  to  say 
nothing  to  their  mother  of  the  scene  just  passed. 
He  would  offer  her  an  opening  for  speech.  Per- 
haps she  was  anxious  in  spite  of  her  acted 
composure. 

157 


The  Inner  Flame 

"I  heard  'Butterfly'  last  week,"  he  said. 
"Farrar  can  have  me." 

Silence. 

"Well,"  he  looked  around  at  the  slender  dark 
face  with  the  eyes  full  of  slumberous  fire. 
"Well,  why  don't  you  get  off  one  of  those  juices 
of  yours  about  the  fair  Geraldine  probably  not 
being  aware  of  her  good  luck,  et  cetera  ? " 

The  chauffeur  was  playing  with  the  speed 
limit.  They  would  soon  be  at  home.  Kathleen 
realized  that  this  would  be  the  only  opportunity 
to  speak  with  her  brother  alone. 

She  slowly  turned  her  head  and  met  his 
quickly  averted  gaze.  "You  are  not  usually  so 
chivalrous  toward  mother,"  she  said.  "Why  did 
you  think  it  worth  while  to  make  such  a  fuss?" 

"Twitting  on  facts  is  bad  taste,"  declared 
Edgar  with  his  usual  air  of  insouciance.  If 
his  sister  would  only  talk,  all  would  be  well. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Why,  Aunt  Mary's  faithful  retainer  showed 
the  poorest  possible  taste.  She  said  if  mother 
knew  that  those  antiques  were  left  unprotected 
by  anything  but  the  oil-stove,  she  would 
prance  over  to  that  stable  and  nab  them." 

Kathleen  stared  at  him.  "Do  you  mean  that 
she  would?" 

158 


Heirlooms 

"Like  a  shot,"  responded  Edgar  cheerfully. 
"Was  n't  I  bound  to  resent  it?" 

Kathleen  kept  silence  a  space.  Since  she  had 
been  at  home  this  time,  her  mother  had  told  her 
with  some  excitement  of  Eliza's  presumption  in 
retaining  articles  of  no  value  to  a  servant. 

"And  whether  I  was  warranted  or  not,"  went 
on  Edgar,  elated  by  her  muteness,  "'  there 
comes  an  opportunity  in  the  lives  of  men' 
which  seldom  knocks  on  a  man's  door  the  sec- 
ond time.  I  flatter  myself  I  was  quick  enough 
to  shut  the  box  between  that  wild  and  woolly 
Westerner  and  us,  so  that  he  won't  expect  any- 
thing more  of  me,  in  any  event." 

"I  should  think  not,"  returned  Kathleen 
slowly.  "The  childish  way  you  took  your  play- 
things and  went  home  was  ridiculous." 

Edgar's  face  flamed.  "Don't  be  nasty,  Kath- 
leen, just  because  you  know  how,"  he  said, 
dropping  his  careless  tone.  "No  doubt  you 
thought  it  was  very  funny  to  see  me  lifted  about 
like  a  doll,  and  on  my  knees  lighting  a  stove.  I 
went  there  to  please  you,  but  I  can  tell  you  a 
very  little  of  alleys  and  stables  will  do  for  me. 
When  I  go  slumming  it'll  be  where  the  poor 
know  their  place  and  know  mine." 

"Oh,    Edgar,"    said    Kathleen    hopelessly. 

159 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Well,  is  it  your  intention  to  tell  mother  what 
happened?" 

"I'm  going  to  keep  that  up  my  sleeve.  It 
may  come  in  handy  sometime." 

"  It  would  hurt  her  feelings,  and  do  no  good," 
said  the  girl. 

"Do  no  good?  What!  Not  if  it  kept  her  from 
inviting  the  cowboy  early  and  often  to  the 
house?  Oh,  yes,  I've  no  doubt  he's  got  you  all 
right.  He's  a  looker,  and  girls  are  all  alike."  ' 

Kathleen  did  not  condescend  to  notice  this 
thrust.  Her  eyes  turned  back  to  gaze  upon  the 
road  as  it  flew  beneath  their  car.  "Don't  lie 
awake  planning  to  avoid  Mr.  Sidney,"  she  said 
quietly.  "He  will  probably  always  see  you  first; 
but  from  the  moment  you  tell  mother  about 
this  petty  little  scene  we  Ve  just  passed  through, 
you  need  never  come  to  me  for  assistance  in-any 
line.  I  shall  not  give  it  to  you." 

Stealing  a  side  glance  at  his  sister's  face, 
Edgar  Fabian  knew  that  she  meant  what  she 
said. 

"Supposing,"  she  went  on  presently,  "that 
you  had  smoothed  over  an  awkward  moment, 
and  that  we  had  had  tea  in  Aunt  Mary's  egg- 
shell cups,  and  had  let  that  brave  fellow  think 
he  was  giving  us  pleasure,  and  that  you  had 

160 


Heirlooms 

sung  something  to  his  mandolin  in  your  charm- 
ing voice;  —  think  of  the  difference  in  situation 
to  us  all.  Instead  of  four  hurt  people,  scatter- 
ing, and  feeling  awkward  and  ashamed,  we 
should  have  given  the  stranger  in  a  strange 
land  a  little  housewarming  to  begin  life  with 
here." 

"Not  four  hurt  people,  if  you  please,"  re- 
torted Edgar  with  bravado;  but  he  was  sur- 
prised, and  somewhat  affected  by  his  sister's 
picture.  His  charming  voice  would  doubtless 
have  increased  the  host's  respect  for  him. 

"I  expect  sometime,  of  course,"  he  went  on 
with  a  superior  air,  "to  be  a  patron  of  the  arts 
to  a  certain  extent.  If  the  cowboy  makes  good, 
and  learns  to  keep  his  hands  off  his  betters,  I 
may  do  something  for  him  yet." 

Kathleen's  risibles  were  not  easily  stirred; 
but  now  she  laughed  low,  and  so  heartily  that 
Edgar's  inflation  over  her  compliment  to  his 
voice  became  as  a  pricked  balloon.  She  even 
wiped  away  a  tear  as  she  ceased. 

"Philip  Sidney  is  going  to  interest  the  pa- 
trons of  art,"  she  said  at  last. 

"What  makes  you  so  sure?"  asked  Edgar 
with  a  sneer.  "His  physique?" 

"His  sketches,  his  superiority  to  his  circum- 
161 


The  Inner  Flame 

stances,  and  his  behavior  to  Eliza,"  returned 
Kathleen  composedly. 

"Great  Scott ! "  exclaimed  her  brother.  " I  'd 
like  to  see  myself  saddled  with  that  gargoyle 
and  a  wild-cat,  in  an  unfurnished  stable  on  a 
dismal  afternoon." 

"Yes,  you've  shown  your  sympathy  and 
assistance  in  a  manly  and  powerful  manner," 
said  Kathleen,  as  the  car  stopped  before  the 
brown-stone  front  of  their  home. 

"Sarcasm,  Miss  Fabian,"  returned  her  bro- 
ther, as  he  assisted  her  to  alight,  "  is  the  cheap- 
est and  meanest  of  weapons.  Each  one  to  his 
taste.  That  state  of  things  suited  him.  It 
would  n't  suit  me.  That's  all.  It  takes  all 
sorts  of  people  to  make  the  world." 

Mrs.  Fabian  was  in  the  drawing-room,  and  as 
her  children  entered  she  looked  up  expectantly, 
then  her  face  fell. 

"I  told  you  to  bring  Phil  back  with  you  to 
tea." 

"I  forgot  it,  mother,  really,"  said  Kathleen. 
She  sat  down  and  began  taking  off  her  gloves. 
"But  he  could  n't  have  come." 

"No,"  added  Edgar.  "He  had  a  guest; 
your  friend  Eliza  Brewster  was  there  with  her 


cat.' 


162 


Heirlooms 

"Eliza ! "  echoed  Mrs.  Fabian,  sitting  up.  "Is 
she  going  to  cook  for  Philip  ? " 

"No,"  said  Kathleen.  "She  is  going  to 
Brewster's  Island  to-night." 

"I  tried,"  added  Edgar,  "to  get  her  to  send 
you  the  cat  as  a  souvenir,  but  she  refused." 

"I'm  glad  she  is  leaving  town,"  said  Mrs. 
Fabian.  "  She  is  a  very  ungrateful  person  and  I 
detest  ingratitude.  Moreover,  a  person  who  is 
in  an  anomalous  position  is  always  annoying, 
and  Aunt  Mary  made  Eliza  so  much  a  member 
of  her  family  that  the  woman  does  n't  know  her 
place.  What  was  she  doing  over  at  Phil's?" 

"Overseeing  the  moving  in  of  Aunt  Mary's 
dunnage, "  replied  Edgar. 

"Why!  Has  he  more  than  one  room?"  asked 
Mrs.  Fabian  with  interest. 

"No,  mother,"  said  Kathleen,  in  a  tone  de- 
signed to  offset  Edgar's  sprightly  scorn.  "He 
has  just  one,  and  nothing  in  it  but  piles  of 
Indian  blankets  and  a  table  and  chair." 

"The  chair  for  Eliza,  mind  you,"  put  in 
Edgar,  "while  Kathleen  and  I  were  stowed  on 
the  floor." 

A  spark  glowed  in  the  girl's  eyes  as  she  re- 
garded her  brother.  "He  let  you  sit  on  a  barrel, 
I  remember,"  she  said. 

163 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Oh,  yes,"  returned  Edgar;  "  and  speaking  of 
barrels,"  he  went  on,  a  belligerent  spark  glow- 
ing in  his  eyes,  "a  ripping  thing  happened. 
All  this  old  stuff  came  over  while  we  were  there, 
and  among  them  a  barrel  of  dishes.  Well,  Sid- 
ney opened  it  and  began  taking  out  the  things, 
but  instead  of  the  coarse  stuff  Eliza  had  meant 
to  give  him,  there  were  gold-banded  china,  and 
colonial  silver  tea-things  — ' 

Mrs.  Fabian's  backbone  suddenly  seemed  of 
steel.  "Aunt  Mary  had  a  few  fine  old  things," 
she  interrupted. 

"Well,  there  they  were.  She'd  given  Sidney 
the  wrong  barrel.  You  should  have  seen  her 
face.  She  was  ready  to  faint." 

"You  say  she  leaves  to-night?"  Mrs. 
Fabian's  eyes  were  looking  far  away  through 
the  wall  of  her  house  toward  Gramercy  Park. 
"Philip  won't  want  the  care  of  those  delicate 
old  things,"  she  added.  "I'll  get  some  proper 
ones  for  him  in  the  morning." 

Edgar  laughed  gleefully,  none  the  less  that 
Kathleen's  lips  were  grave. 

"If  I  were  you,  mother,"  said  the  girl,  "I 
would  let  them  work  it  out.  Eliza  seems  to 
have  taken  the  helm  over  there." 

"Of  course  she  has,"  agreed  Mrs.  Fabian 
164 


Heirlooms 

sharply.  "Taking  is  Eliza's  forte.  That  china 
and  silver  belonged  to  my  grandmother.  If 
Aunt  Mary  did  n't  have  enough  thoughtfulness 
to  leave  it  to  me  in  writing,  is  that  any  reason 
it  should  not  be  mine?" 

"Aunt  Mary  knew,"  said  Kathleen,  "that 
you  had  everything  you  wanted." 

"Everything  I  needed,  perhaps,"  retorted 
Mrs.  Fabian,  with  excitement,  "but  I  certainly 
want  my  own  grandmother's  things;  and  Provi- 
dence has  thrown  them  into  my  hands.  I  shall 
explain  everything  to  Philip  and  he  will  be  glad 
to  have  me  take  them.  Is  n't  he  all  that  I  said 
he  was,  Kathleen?" 

"He  is  very  interesting,"  returned  Kathleen 
quietly. 

Then  she  rose  and  went  to  the  door.  Edgar 
followed  her  uneasily  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"  I  'm  not  going  to  peach,  Kath,  don't  worry," 
he  said.  "I'll  keep  the  compact.  I  just  wanted 
to  prove  to  you  that  I  knew  the  mater." 

His  sister  turned  on  him.  "I  told  you  that 
you  should  have  been  the  girl  and  I  the  man," 
she  said ;  and  he  winced  under  the  contempt  of 
her  look.  "If  mother  gets  those  things  to- 
morrow, the  result  for  you  will  be  just  what  I 
promised.  I  shall  never  be  at  your  call  again." 


The  Inner  Flame 

"You  said — "  began  Edgar,  perturbed. 

But  Kathleen  ran  swiftly  upstairs.  Her 
brother  returned  to  the  drawing-room. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Kathleen?"  in- 
quired Mrs.  Fabian.  "She  behaved  so 
strangely." 

"Oh,"  returned  Edgar,  shaking  his  head  as  if 
exasperated  beyond  patience,  "Kath's  a  stiff. 
She  can't  see  a  joke  if  she  runs  into  it.  Now,  I 
think  that  barrel  business  was  funny,  don't 
you?" 

"It's  something  more  than  funny,"  returned 
Mrs.  Fabian  impressively.  "It's  Providence, 
as  I  said." 

"Well,  now,  I'll  wager,"  declared  her  son 
argumentatively,  "that  if  you  take  the  law 
into  your  own  hands  and  bring  that  old  truck 
over  here,  Kathleen  will  cut  us  both." 

"What  in  the  world  is  the  reason?  Was  she 
so  impressed  with  Philip  ?  I  think  he 's  irresist- 
ible myself,  but  Kathleen  is  so  unimpression- 
able —  and  beside,  he  won't  disapprove." 

"I'm  not  so  sure.  He  treats  Eliza  as  if  she 
was  the  one  best  bet.  I  don't  pretend  to  know 
all  Kath  thinks.  She's  a  high-brow  and  a  crank. 
Do  you  suppose  she'd  look  at  a  man  unless  he 
was  a  college  professor?  I  guess  not." 

166 


Heirlooms 

"Don't  speak  of  your  sister  so,  Edgar.  You 
have  reason  to  be  grateful  that  she  is  not  an 
ordinary  silly  flirt." 

"Flirt!"  ejaculated  Edgar,  with  rolling  eyes. 
"Do  you  suppose  she'd  sit  on  the  stairs  with 
anything  but  a  Latin  book,  or  flirt  with  any- 
thing but  a  microscope?" 

"Well,  then,  you  don't  have  to  worry  about 
her?" 

"Don't  I!"  retorted  Edgar  laconically. 

"I  must  say,"  pursued  Mrs.  Fabian  virtu- 
ously, "it  is  too  much  for  Kathleen  always  to 
expect  me  to  hold  her  judgment  superior  to 
mine.  I  shall  do  in  this  matter  what  I  see  fit." 

"Then  it's  all  up  with  me,"  observed  Edgar. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"She'll  visit  it  on  me.  She  always  does." 
Edgar  was  beginning  to  wish  that  he  had  not 
played  with  fire.  "Beside,  in  this  case,  Eliza 
says  that  old  stuff  belongs  to  her;  is  hers  to  do 
as  she  pleases  with." 

"  Yes,"  returned  Mrs.  Fabian,  with  righteous 
indignation.  "Possession  is  nine  tenths  of  the 
law;  and  if  I  get  that  possession  we'll  see  what 
the  law  can  do  for  her!" 

"Oh,"  protested  Edgar  petulantly,  "why  do 
you  want  to  bother  with  it?" 


The  Inner  Flame 

His  mother's  eyes  were  glistening.  In  fancy 
she  saw  the  convenient  barrel  in  which  was 
compactly  stowed  Aunt  Mary's  little  store  of 
heirlooms. 

"Because,"  she  answered  with  dignity,  "gen- 
uine old  things  like  that  are  not  to  be  de- 
spised. They  would  be  just  the  thing  at  the 
island." 

"That's  what  Eliza  thought,"  said  Edgar 
drily. 

"The  idea,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Fabian,  "of 
her  using  such  things  in  the  sort  of  home  she  '11 
have!" 

"Perhaps  she'll  console  Mrs.  Wright  with 
them,"  said  Edgar.  "You  were  pitying  her  last 
night  for  her  winter  exile." 

"If  she  did,  Mrs.  Wright  would  give  them 
back  to  me  at  once,"  declared  Mrs.  Fabian; 
"but  never  mind,  there  will  be  no  need  now. 
Providence  has  thrown  them  right  into  my 
hands.  Occasionally  you  can  see  justice  work 
out  in  this  world." 

Edgar  looked  toward  the  portieres.  Kathleen 
might  return.  There  was  no  sign  of  any  one 
approaching,  however. 

"Well,  I'm  in  wrong  with  Kath  for  having 
spoken  of  it,  then,"  he  said.  "Let  me  have 

168 


Heirlooms 

twenty,  will  you,  mother?  You  can  afford  to 
on  the  strength  of  the  heirlooms." 

"I  can't,  Edgar." 

"Ten,  then;  you  owe  me  that  much,  I'm 
sure." 

Mrs.  Fabian's  lips  took  a  tight  line. 

"You  know,  Edgar,"  she  said  impressively, 
"your  father  has  forbidden  me  to  give  you 
money.  He  says  you  must  learn  the  worth  of 
it." 

The  youth  shrugged  his  shoulders  impa- 
tiently, and  throwing  himself  into  an  easy- 
chair,  stretched  his  legs  toward  the  blazing 
logs  and  stared  at  the  fire  with  the  gloom  of 
one  who  feels  that  he  has  killed  the  goose 
that  laid  the  golden  eggs.  He  had  not,  how- 
ever, told  of  Eliza's  insult  and  his  own  wrath- 
ful departure  from  the  stable.  He  could  de- 
fend himself  to  Kathleen  so  far,  when  next 
they  met,  and  it  might  possibly  soften  her 
heart. 

When  Philip  Sidney  bounded  up  the  stable 
stairs,  he  came  in  upon  Eliza,  who  was  standing 
as  he  had  left  her,  and  with  such  a  woe-begone 
expression  that,  meeting  her  tragical  gaze,  he 
burst  into  a  peal  of  laughter. 

169 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Oh,  Mr.  Philip,  Mr.  Philip!"  she  mourned. 
"  I  Ve  spoiled  everything." 

"What!  Let  the  kettle  boil  over?" 

"No,  no;  you'll  make  light  of  it  for  my  sake; 
but  I  Ve  turned  the  Fabians  against  you !  That 
pert  little  bantam  will  go  home  and  tell  his 
mother  everything,  and  it'll  make  a  lot  o'  differ- 
ence. They  might  have  been  lots  o'  use  to  you." 

"Don't  borrow  trouble,  Eliza.  I  'm  not  going 
to  have  our  last  visit  spoiled.  I  don't  make  use 
of  my  friends  anyway;  and  beside,  I  'm  going  to 
be  too  busy  to  have  any.  Come,  now,  make  the 
tea.  I  want  to  see  you  drink  so  much  that  you 
*  swell  wisibly  before  my  wery  eyes.'  Shall  we 
use  this  fine  old  silver  jug?" 

"Mr.  Sidney."  Eliza  wrung  her  hands. 
"You're  awful  smart  and  strong;  can  we  get 
this  barrel  headed  up  again  and  off  to  the  depot 
to-night?" 

"Why,"  Phil  hesitated,  "I  suppose  so,  but 
would  n't  you  rather  have  your  tea  in  comfort 
now,  before  we  go  out  to  dinner,  and  let  me  do 
the  barrel  to-morrow  and  send  it  off?" 

"There  would  n't  be  any  barrel,"  returned 
Eliza  darkly.  "Not  unless  you  packed  and  sent 
it  before  you  went  to  your  school." 

"Why  not?" 

170 


Heirlooms 

"You  heard  me  tell  'em  right  to  their  face," 
said  Eliza. 

"Oh,  surely,"  protested  Phil,  "you  don't 
think  Mrs.  Fabian  would  do  anything  high- 
handed?" 

"Wouldn't  she,  though?"  returned  Eliza. 
"She  has  n't  got  over  it  yet  that  Mrs.  Ballard 
sent  your  mother  a  diamond  pin  and  did  n't 
leave  her  anything." 

Phil  looked  puzzled.  "Why  did  n't  Aunt 
Mary  remember  Aunt  Isabel  ? "  he  asked. 

"To  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  think  Mrs. 
Ballard  meant  to  slight  her.  She  just  did  n't 
think  anything  about  it.  She  knew  Mrs.  Fabian 
was  rich,  and  did  n't  suppose  she'd  care  for 
any  of  her  little  things.  Your  mother  always 
acted  human  toward  her,  and  was  her  name- 
sake, and  't  was  natural  she  should  send  her 
something." 

"Well,  well;  have  a  cup  of  tea  anyway." 
Eliza's  pallor  went  to  her  host's  heart.  He 
went  to  the  window  and  brought  in  the  lemon 
and  sugar. 

Eliza  followed  him  with  her  eyes. 

"Do  you  think  you  can,  Mr.  Sidney?"  she 
asked,  her  hands  interlocked. 

"Can  what?" 

171 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Do  the  barrel.  I'll  never  forget  it  of  you," 
she  said  fervently. 

"I  can't  believe  there's  any  necessity  for 
such  haste.  Pat 's  a  good  watch-dog  so  far  as 
thieves  are  concerned." 

"You  don't  know  what  you  're  talking  about, 
Mr.  Sidney.  Trust  me,  it's  my  only  chance 
to  save  the  dishes ;  and  I  tell  you  she  might  have 
the  whole  kit  and  boodle  of  'em  and  welcome,  if 
she'd  been  kind,  or  even  decent  to  that  little 
angel.  'T  ain't  the  silver  and  things  I  want. 
It's  to  keep  'em  away  from  her." 

Phil  could  see  that  Eliza  was  trembling  in  her 
intensity.  She  had  shaken  her  head  until  she 
had  again  loosened  the  grey  locks  about  her 
gaunt  face. 

"  I  don't  care  anything  about  anything  to  eat, 
Mr.  Sidney,"  she  went  on.  "I  can  head  up  the 
barrel  myself  in  some  kind  of  a  way,  but  it's 
got  to  go  to  the  depot  or  else  I  don't,  and  my 
berth's  all  paid  for." 

"How  did  you  ever  happen  to  be  born  in 
New  England?"  returned  Phil  meditatively, 
noting  her  clenched  hands.  "You  and  Bern- 
hardt  would  have  been  rivals.  Settle  down 
comfortably  now.  Make  the  tea  and  I'll 
head  up  the  barrel  after  you  have  used  one 

172 


Heirlooms 

of  these  cups.  If  necessary,  we'll  ride  on  the 
wagon." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Sidney,  can  we  ride  on  the  wagon  ? " 
exclaimed  Eliza  in  a  frenzy  of  gratitude. 

Phil  laughed.  "Anyway,  the  barrel  shall 
leave  here  to-night.  I  '11  take  one  of  my  brushes 
and  do  such  high-art  addressing  that  it  will 
follow  you  meekly  to  the  island.  Don't  you 
worry  another  moment.  I  guarantee  it." 

"Then  it'll  have  to  leave  here  before  we  do," 
persisted  Eliza. 

"It  shall  leave  here  before  we  do.  Now,  are 
you  satisfied  ?" 

Eliza  heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  relief  and  pro- 
ceeded to  make  the  tea. 

Phil  was  inclined  to  be  impatient  with  her 
fears ;  but  the  next  day,  when  he  returned  from 
the  Academy,  Pat  met  him  with  a  grin. 

"Sure  ye 're  the  divil  of  a  bye,"  he  said  with 
an  expansive  gesture.  "I'll  have  to  put  on  a 
biled  shirt  every  day  to  resave  yer  company. 
'T  was  no  less  than  the  Queen  o'  Sheby  came  to 
see  ye  this  mornin'  an'  you  not  gone  tin 
minutes." 

"A  lady —  the  one  who  was  here  yesterday? " 

"  Sure  't  was  no  slip  of  a  girl  in  a  big  hat  to- 
day. 'T  was  a  queen,  I  'm  tellin'  ye.  She  rolled 

173 


The  Inner  Flame 

up  in  her  motor  car  an'  come  here  an'  knocked 
on  me  door,  an'  me  without  a  collar  on.  She 
was  dressed  in  furs  an'  looked  like  she  owned 
the  earth. 

"  '  I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Sidney,'  says  she. 

'"Thin  ye '11  have  to  go  farther,  mum,'  says  I. 
'Ye '11  find  him  at  the  paintin'  school,'  says  I. 

"She  didn't  need  any  paint  herself,  I'm 
tellin'  ye.  She  got  rid  in  the  face  while  she  was 
talkin'. 

"'I'm  his  aunt,'  says  she,  haughty-like,  'an' 
as  long  as  I'm  here  I'll  see  his  room,'  says  she; 
an'  wid  that  she  wint  up  them  stairs  like  they 
belonged  to  her.  I  heerd  her  movin'  around,  an' 
I  hurried  to  button  me  collar  an'  slick  up. 
Presently  I  dropped  the  comb,  for  I  heerd  her 
comin'  back.  Before  she'd  got  away  down- 
stairs, 'What  have  ye  done  wid  the  barrel?' 
says  she.  'What  bar'l? '  says  I.  'The  wan  Mr. 
Sidney  had  here  last  night,'  says  she.  Thin  I 
remembered  there  was  wan.  'It  moved  out,' 
says  I,  'wid  his  company,'  says  I.  'What  com- 
pany ? '  says  she,  and  her  eyes  snapped  the  way 
I  expected  to  hear  her  say,  'Off  with  his  head!' 
"A  lady,'  says  I,  'wid  a  cat  in  a  basket. 
T  was  a  reg'lar  movin','  says  I. 

"She  bit  her  lip,  and  muttered:  'Just  like 
174 


Heirlooms 

her!'  I  heerd  her  plain,  though  she  wasn't 
lookin'  at  me  no  more.  Take  an  auld  man's 
advice,  me  bye.  Kape  away  from  the  Queen  o' 
Sheby  for  a  while;  an'  if  ye  don't  tell  me  what 
was  in  that  bar'l  rollin'  up  an'  down  stairs  like 
a  restless  soul,  I'll  be  havin'  the  nightmare, 


sure." 


Phil  laughed,  and  shook  his  head.  "The  ways 
of  women,  Pat,"  he  said,  "  are  so  far  beyond  me 
that  I  can't  even  guess." 

"Can't  guess  what  was  in  the  bar'l?  Tell  me, 
now,  or  ye '11  not  git  the  key  to  the  park  nor 
meet  yer  sweetheart." 

"There  were  dishes  and  silver  in  that  barrel, 
Pat.  Each  of  the  women  thinks  she  owns 
them." 

"I'd  bet  on  the  Queen  o'  Sheby,"  said  Pat. 

"You'd  lose,  then,"  returned  Phil,  running 
upstairs. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   ARRIVAL 

ELIZA  BREWSTER  reached  Portland  in  time  for 
breakfast;  and  the  hours  she  must  spend  before 
the  one  afternoon  boat  started  for  the  island 
were  embarrassing  ones  on  account  of  Pluto. 
She  had  a  cup  of  coffee  and  an  egg  in  the  sta- 
tion, and  then  lifted  her  heavy  basket  on  the 
car  and  rode  across  the  city  to  the  wharf. 

Setting  the  cat  at  liberty  she  followed  him 
about,  and  held  him  on  her  lap,  alternately, 
until  passengers  were  allowed  to  board  the 
steamer.  The  captain  and  purser  were  new  to 
her.  She  glanced  about  the  cabin  as  she  sat,  her 
arms  clasped  about  the  basket,  out  of  whose 
window  Pluto's  eyes  were  again  glowering. 
Eliza  dreaded  recognizing  some  one  she  knew; 
but  no  recognition  occurred,  and  she  had  ample 
time  in  the  two  hours'  ride  to  meditate  on  past 
and  future.  Many  years  had  fled  since  she  last 
saw  Casco  Bay.  She  and  Mrs.  Ballard  had 
spent  a  couple  of  weeks  at  Brewster's  Island  one 
summer,  but  it  had  been  their  farewell  to  out- 

176 


The  Arrival 

ings  further  from  home  than  Coney  Island. 
She  had  not  enjoyed  the  experience  because  of 
wrathful  resentment  at  the  neglect  of  Mrs. 
Fabian,  then  a  bride;  but  Mrs.  Ballard  had 
revelled  in  the  natural  beauty  which  feasted  her 
soul.  Eliza  evoked  the  memory  now  and  smiled 
grimly  with  satisfaction  at  the  consideration 
that  the  precious  barrel  was  safely  starting  on 
its  journey  after  her. 

She  met  her  cat's  green  gaze  through  his 
wire  window.  "  If  I  set  more  value  on  my  life 
than  I  do,  Pluto,"  she  muttered,  "I'd  risk  it 
on  Mrs.  Fabian  visitin'  a  certain  stable  this 
mornin'.  Then  Mr.  Philip  '11  know,  and  he'll 
forgive  me." 

Her  heart  warmed  as  she  thought  of  the  jolly 
kindness  of  her  late  host;  of  his  assiduity  and 
care  for  her  comfort;  of  the  milk  he  had  fed  to 
Pluto,  and  the  hot  beefsteak  to  herself. 

"That  supper  last  night  cost  him  a  lot  o* 
money.  I  know  it  did!"  she  thought  remorse- 
fully, "but,"  with  a  revulsion  of  affectionate 
concern,  "I  hope  he'll  eat  good  and  not  slight 
himself  when  he's  alone.  There's  such  a  lot  of 
him  to  nourish." 

It  was  the  sort  of  dismal  weather  which  in- 
spired the  description,  "No  sun,  no  moon,  no 

177 


The  Inner  Flame 

stars,  November!"  and  Eliza  dreaded  the  re- 
turn to  her  old  changed  home.  Her  heart  beat 
a  little  faster  as  the  steamer  ploughed  along, 
each  minute  bringing  her  nearer  to  that  especial 
hill  rising  from  the  waters  of  Casco  Bay  where 
she  first  opened  her  eyes  to  life.  Memories  of 
those  dead  and  gone  assailed  her  until  her  eyes 
stung. 

"I'd  like  to  know,"  she  thought  sternly,  "if 
there's  as  ungrateful  a  critter  in  the  universe. 
S'posin'  I  was  goin'  to  the  island  to  nobody? 
S'posin'  I  'd  been  seen  off  in  New  York  by  no- 
body ?  That 's  what  I  'd  expected  to  happen  two 
weeks  ago." 

Eliza  gazed  rebukingly  at  the  steam  radiator 
in  the  middle  of  the  cabin  until  her  tears  ceased. 

She  had  not  slept  much  in  her  unaccustomed 
bed  on  the  sleeping-car,  impeded  by  the  heavy 
basket  and  her  own  hand-bag,  and  the  fear  of 
how  Pluto  might  behave  at  the  stops;  so  the 
boat  ride  seemed  long,  and  it  was  with  relief 
that  she  at  last  heard  the  summons :  — 

"Brewster's  Island.  Land  from  the  lower 
deck." 

"  Praise  be ! "  she  thought.  "  I  have  n't  got  to 
lug  my  things  upstairs." 

There  were  but  few  passengers  to  get  off  at 
178 


The  Arrival 

this  island,  and  but  few  persons  standing  in  the 
raw  air  on  the  wharf. 

There  was  a  lump  in  Eliza's  throat  as  she 
carried  her  burdens  up  the  gangplank,  but 
through  the  mist  in  her  eyes  she  saw  a  face  she 
recognized.  It  was  lean,  and  smooth-shaven, 
and  had  scarcely  grown  more  lined  in  twenty 
years.  The  man  met  her  gaze  with  alert  scru- 
tiny and  then  looked  beyond  her  for  some  one. 
The  gangplank  was  drawn  in. 

"James,"  said  Eliza,  when  she  had  swal- 
lowed. 

The  alert,  searching  eyes  returned  to  her,  and 
looked,  at  first,  without  recognition. 

"Don't  tell  me  you  don't  know  me,  James," 
added  the  traveller,  trying  to  laugh. 

"Why,  Eliza  Brewster,  I  was  runnin'  over 
ye,"  said  the  captain  in  hasty  amazement. 
"You  —  you've  grown  some  spare,  Eliza.  Just 
at  first  I  did  n't  see  who  't  wuz."  The  kindly 
speaker  endeavored  to  conceal  his  dismay. 
"Amazin'  how  a  little  flesh  off  or  on '11  change  a 
body,"  he  added.  "Here,  let  me  take  your 
bundles.  Carriage  right  up  here  waitin'  for  us. 
Mrs.  Wright  sent  me  down  to  meet  ye.  Kinder 
homely  day,  ain't  it?" 

"That's  a  cat,  James,"  said  Eliza  as  he 
179 


The  Inner  Flame 

seized  the  basket.    "You  see,  I'm  a  real  old 
maid,  travellin'  with  a  cat." 

"Well,  it's  all  right,  I  s'pose,"  returned  the 
captain  gallantly,  as  they  walked  up  the  wharf 
toward  the  waiting  carry-all;  "but 't  would  'a' 
been  more  to  the  point  if  ye  'd  brought  somethin' 
that  was  kind  of  a  rarity  on  the  island.  We 
could  'a'  supplied  ye  with  a  cat  fer  every  day  in 
the  week,  black,  white,  malty,  whatever  ye 
wanted.  Well!  how  ye  been,  Eliza?" 

"I  guess  you  can  see,"  returned  Eliza  laconi- 
cally. 

"Well,  well,"  said  Cap'n  James.  He  helped 
her  into  the  carriage  and  followed.  "Git  ap, 
Tom.  Mrs.  Wright  '11  fat  ye  up  in  no  time.  She 
says  you're  goin'  to  stay  with  her." 

"Yes,  for  a  while  I  am."  Eliza's  eyes  were 
travelling  over  the  familiar  rolling  landscape. 
"How  does  she  make  out  here?" 

"Don't  seem  to  complain  none.  Mr.  Wright 
has  settled  down  like  a  round  peg  in  a  round 
hole.  Brewster's  Island  's  good  enough  for 
him." 

"My,  my!  How  it's  changed!"  murmured 
Eliza  as  one  unexpected  roof  after  another  rose 
into  view. 

"I  s'pose  that's  so,"  agreed  Captain  James. 
1 80 


The  Arrival 

"You  can't  stay  away  even  from  one  o'  these 
islands  a  dozen  years  or  so  without  seein*  the 
foot  o'  man  encroachin'.  It's  good  fer  trade, 
Eliza,  good  fer  trade.  Lots  o'  the  roofs  ye  see 
cover  empty  cottages  now,  but  come  summer 
time  the  place  swarms  all  right.  The  Fabians 
got  enough  room  to  swing  a  cat  in.  Nobody  can 
come  very  near  them;  but  the  rest  o'  the  is- 
land 's  pretty  well  dotted  here  and  there." 

"  It  don't  look  like  the  place  I  was  brought 
up,"  said  Eliza. 

They  had  reached  the  height  of  the  road  now, 
and  her  wistful  eyes  fell  on  a  cove  which  pierced 
the  island's  side.  Its  softly  rising  banks  were 
studded  with  evergreen  trees,  standing  black 
above  the  black  water.  A  threatening  sky  hung 
sullenly  over  all. 

"T  ain't  the  place  you  was  brought  up," 
returned  Captain  James  cheerfully.  "It's  a 
darned  sight  more  prosperous  place.  While  the 
summer  folks  are  restin'  up,  we're  makin'  hay 
and  cuttin'  ice,  as  ye  might  say;  and  come  fall 
we  get  shet  of  'em  and  go  back  to  a  quiet  life. 
No  one  can't  say  this  ain't  a  quiet  life,  can  they, 
Eliza?" 

Captain  James  reined  in  the  horse  before 
taking  the  Foster  Hill,  and  compassion  showed 

181 


The  Inner  Flame 

in  his  kindly  eyes  as  he  turned  and  watched 
the  grey  face  of  his  passenger. 

"Eliza  Brewster  used  to  be  a  pretty  girl," 
was  his  pitiful  thought. 

She  kept  silence,  her  pale  eyes  resting  on  the 
dark  waters  of  the  cove,  austerely  quiet  in  the 
windless  twilight. 

"Feels  like  snow,"  said  Captain  James. 
"  S'pose  you  could  snowball  now,  Eliza  ?  I  know 
when  we  were  youngsters  you  could  hold  yer 
own  with  any  boy  on  the  island." 

"That's  my  one  talent,  James,"  responded 
Eliza  drily.  "I  can  hold  my  own  yet." 

The  captain  smiled  with  relief  at  this  sign 
that  some  of  the  old  spirit  lingered  behind  that 
haggard  face. 

"  By  cracky,"  he  said, "  I  '11  bring  up  a  bob-sled 
after  the  first  snow,  and  we'll  toboggan  down- 
hill again,  Eliza.  Never  say  die.  Git  ap,  Tom." 

The  carriage  started  up  toward  a  long  low 
white  house  on  the  summit  of  the  ridge.  Four 
bare  Balm  of  Gilead  trees  stood  sentinel  before 
it  in  a  waste  of  withered  grass.  Beyond  rose  the 
gnarled  boughs  of  a  struggling  apple  orchard, 
beside  which  a  tiny  house  with  blank  uncur- 
tained windows  stood  beneath  the  forlorn  guard 
of  two  more  gaunt  bare  trees  standing  ready  for 

182 


The  Arrival 

the  conflict  with  winter  winds,  and  bearing  the 
scars  of  many  a  battle  past.  Back  of  the  little 
building  was  a  shallow  field  inclining  downward 
to  the  open  ocean  which  held  the  island  now 
in  its  black,  mighty  embrace,  creeping  with  a 
subdued  roar  upon  the  cold  rocky  sands. 

"Say,  Eliza,"  said  Captain  James,  as  the 
tiny  deserted  cottage  came  into  view,  "was  we 
afraid  o'  Granny  Foster,  was  we?  Say!" 

The  speaker  turned  and  interrogated  his 
passenger  with  a  twinkle. 

A  wan  smile  rewarded  him. 

"Afterward  Jenny  used  it  for  chickens,  Mrs. 
Wright  says,"  she  returned. 

"Yes;  but  there  never  was  an  old  hen  there 
that  come  up  to  Granny  Foster,  you  bet." 

"How  long  ago  does  that  seem  to  you, 
James?"  asked  Eliza,  after  a  pause. 

"As  if  't  was  yesterday,"  he  responded 
valiantly. 

His  memory  was  picturing  the  little  girl  in 
plaid  gingham  and  sunbonnet  who  could  outrun 
any  boy  on  the  island.  That  sunbonnet  was 
never  in  place,  but  always  hung  down  Eliza's 
back,  the  strings  tied  at  her  throat.  Captain 
James  remembered  to  have  thought  there  was 
something  very  pleasing  about  that  throat. 

183 


The  Inner  Flame 

"  It  seems  a  hundred  years  ago  to  me,"  said 
Eliza  quietly. 

"Whew!  You  must  'a*  lived  fast  in  New 
York,"  returned  Captain  James.  "That's  an 
awful  record." 

"Do  you  suppose  I'll  ever  get  used  to  the 
stillness  again,  James  ?  I  believe  if  a  pin  was  to 
drop  in  this  grass  you  could  hear  it." 

"Guess  Nature  '11  make  rumpus  enough  for 
ye  before  long,"  returned  the  captain.  "You  've 
never  tried  it  up  on  this  hill,  Eliza.  I  guess 
when  the  pebbles  and  rocks  begin  draggin' 
around  below  there  at  high  tide,  you  won't  miss 
the  elevated  trains  none." 

The  horse  was  climbing  slowly  and  patiently 
as  they  talked,  and  a  woman  within  the  old 
farmhouse  was  watching  the  ascent  from  a 
window.  Now  the  watcher  disappeared,  and 
presently  the  house  door  opened  and  a  figure 
came  out  on  the  stone  step. 

"There's  Mrs.  Wright  now.  Git  ap,  Tom." 

A  gleam  came  into  Eliza's  pale  eyes.  It  was 
an  attractive  figure  that  stood  there  in  dark 
blue  gown  and  white  apron.  The  silver  aureole 
of  hair  framed  a  smiling  face.  Eliza  grasped  the 
handles  of  Pluto's  basket. 

"To  think  that  after  all  the  years  I  should 
184 


The  Arrival 

have  a  homecoming  on  this  island!"  was  her 
grateful  thought. 

"Here  we  are,"  called  Captain  James  cheer- 
fully as  they  approached;  "little  box,  big  box, 
bandbox,  and  bundle,  and  the  cat." 

Mrs.  Wright  approached  as  the  carry-all 
stopped. 

"Did  you  really  bring  a  cat,  Eliza?"  she 
asked,  laughing. 

-"Why,  —  why,"  stammered  Eliza,  "it  never 
once  came  to  me  till  this  minute  that  perhaps 
you  don't  like  cats!" 

"I  like  everything  alive,"  was  the  response; 
and  the  speaker  looked  it,  as  she  received  the 
cat-basket,  and  Eliza  stepped  out  on  the  grass. 

"But  does  Mr.  Wright?"  inquired  Eliza  in 
perturbation.  Was  it  Pluto's  destiny  to  become 
a  wild-cat  after  travelling  by  land  and  sea ! 

That  gentleman  now  appeared,  stout  and 
with  tousled  hair,  which  suggested  that  he  had 
just  risen  from  slumber. 

"This  is  Eliza  Brewster,  Morris,  and  she  has 
brought  us  a  pet,"  said  Mrs.  Wright  pleasantly. 

The  host  shook  hands  with  the  newcomer 
with  sufficient  grace  and  eyed  the  basket  curi- 
ously. Captain  James  looked  benignly  on  the 
group. 

185 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Eliza  and  me  have  been  lookin'  backward  as 
we  came  along,"  he  said.  "We  used  to  race  and 
tear  around  this  hill  —  she  says  't  was  a  hun- 
dred years  ago,  but  don't  you  believe  it.  I'm 
goin'  to  bring  a  bob-sled,  first  snow,  and  sail  her 
down  the  hill  and  make  her  think  'twa'n't 
more'n  yesterday  that  we  did  it  last." 

The  smile  on  Eliza's  haggard  face  but  made 
her  fatigue  more  evident. 

"Where's  the  trunk,  Cap'n  James?"  asked 
Mrs.  Wright. 

"  I  'm  goin'  to  fetch  it  right  up.  Git  ap,  Tom." 

"Hurry  in,  Mrs.  Wright,"  said  Eliza,  her 
care-taking  instinct  asserting  itself.  "You'll 
take  cold." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  was  the  reply  as  the  hostess 
led  the  way  in;  "I  never  take  anything  that 
does  n't  belong  to  me." 

There  was  a  cheerful  fire  blazing  in  the  living- 
room  and  Eliza  was  at  once  seated  before  it  and 
made  to  feel  for  a  second  time  like  an  honored 
guest. 

"I'll  let  Pluto  out,  first  thing,  if  you  don't 
mind,"  she  said,  and  unfastened  the  basket. 

Mr.  Wright,  his  eyes  indolently  curious  under 
the  rumpled  grey  hair,  watched  the  proceeding. 

"A  Manx  cat,"  he  remarked  as  the  prisoner 
1 86 


The  Arrival 

leaped  out.  Pluto's  green  eyes  blazed  in  the 
moment  that  he  stood  and  looked  about  him. 

"Here,  poor  thing,"  said  Eliza,  "your  trou- 
bles are  over.  There's  a  fire  such  as  you've 
never  seen  in  all  your  days." 

But  the  outraged  cat  scorned  the  fire,  scorned 
even  Eliza's  caressing  hand.  Leaping  from  her 
touch  he  descried  the  lounge;  and  thanking  the 
gods  of  his  Egyptian  ancestors  that  at  last  he 
had  reached  a  place  where  furniture  accorded 
hiding-places,  he  dashed  into  the  darkest  corner 
its  valance  concealed. 

"He's  kind  o'  put  out  by  all  he's  been 
through,"  said  Eliza  apologetically. 

Mr.  Wright  went  to  the  couch  and  stooping 
lifted  the  valance. 

"Shall  I  get  him  for  you?"  he  asked. 

Two  green  eyes  blazed  at  him  from  the  dark- 
ness and  a  vigorous  spitting  warned  him  away. 

"Please  just  let  him  sulk  a  little  while,"  said 
Eliza  hastily.  Supposing  Pluto  should  inaugu- 
rate their  visit  by  scratching  the  host!  Awful 
thought!  "He's  a  real  good  cat  in  his  way," 
she  added. 

"Well,  I'm  certainly  not  invited  under  the 
lounge,"  said  Mr.  Wright,  straightening  up. 

"  I  did  n't  know  anybody  to  give  him  to," 


The  Inner  Flame 

went  on  Eliza,  still  apologetic.  "Mr.  Sidney 
said  he  would  have  taken  him  if  he'd  known." 

"Mr.  Sidney.  That's  Mrs.  Ballard's  young 
artist,  is  n't  it?"  asked  Mrs.  Wright,  who  was 
boiling  a  kettle  over  an  alcohol  lamp  at  a  tea- 
table  in  the  corner  of  the  room. 

"Yes  —  we  spent  our  last  day  with  him  in 
his  stable." 

"His  what,  Eliza?" 

"His  stable.  He's  found  one  for  a  studio  in 
a  real  stylish  place  up  in  Gramercy  Park  where 
the  folks  have  gone  to  Europe.  He's  as  tickled 
as  if  he  owned  the  whole  big  house." 

"I'm  glad  he's  found  a  place  to  suit  him. 
You  like  him  very  much,  don't  you,  Eliza?" 

"He  could  n't  be  any  better,"  said  Eliza  sim- 
ply. "  We  'd  'a'  had  a  real  nice  visit  only  the 
Fabian  children  came  in,  Edgar  and  Kathleen." 

"Oh,  how  are  they?"  asked  Mrs.  Wright  with 
interest. 

"They  seemed  to  be  all  right.  I  had  n't  seen 
'em  for  years." 

Mrs.  Wright  remembered  Eliza's  criticism  of 
Mrs.  Fabian  on  the  occasion  of  the  call  she 
made  upon  her  in  New  York. 

"Just  turn  your  head,"  she  said,  "and  you 
can  see  right  from  where  you  are  sitting  the  fine 

1 88 


The  Arrival 

cottage  Mr.  Fabian  built  here  five  years  ago  in 
place  of  the  old  one  his  wife  owned." 

Eliza  turned  and  looked  out  the  window.  Far 
across  the  field  and  an  intervening  wall  she 
could  see  a  house  built  of  boulders,  low  and 
broad,  and  obtained  glimpses  of  its  wide  ver- 
andas. 

"It's  a  charming  place,"  went  on  Mrs. 
Wright,  "and  they  have  a  delightful  small 
yacht.  We  became  acquainted  with  them  dur- 
ing the  last  fortnight  of  Violet's  stay  in  the 
summer  and  she  had  a  few  fine  sails  with  them." 

Here  the  hostess  rose  and  brought  Eliza  a  cup 
of  fragrant  tea. 

The  guest  started.  "The  idea  of  your  waitin* 
on  me,  Mrs.  Wright,"  she  said  humbly. 

"Oh,  making  tea  is  fun,  Eliza;  and  I  want 
you  to  drink  that  before  I  take  you  to  your 
room.  This  is  n't  any  steam-heated  apartment, 
as  you  remember." 

As  she  spoke,  Mrs.  Wright  took  a  cup  of  tea 
to  her  husband,  who  was  sitting  on  the  couch, 
occasionally  lifting  the  valance  and  peering 
beneath,  apparently  vastly  entertained  by  the 
feline  explosions  with  which  Pluto,  his  sharp 
teeth  bared,  spat  at  the  intrusion. 

"You  won't  put  your  hand  under,  will  you, 
180 


The  Inner  Flame 

Mr.  Wright?"  asked  Eliza  anxiously.  "Pluto's 
so  quick  you  'd  think 't  was  lightnin'  struck  you. 
I'm  ashamed  of  him  with  this  good  fire;  but  he 
had  an  awful  time  with  boys  once  and  that's 
where  his  tail  went,  and  I  don't  feel  to  blame 
him  so  much  as  if  he  had  n't  ever  suffered  any. 
He's  scarcely  seen  any  men  except  Mr.  Sidney. 
He  was  clever  to  him  always,  but  I  don't  know 
as  Pluto  '11  forgive  him  now  for  shuttin'  him  up 
in  the  basket.  Oh!"  Eliza  heaved  a  sigh  of  re- 
lief, "I'm  so  glad  we've  got  here." 

"  I  Ve  put  an  oil-stove  in  your  room,  Eliza," 
said  Mrs.  Wright,  as  all  three  sat  sipping  their 
tea. 

"That's  real  nice,"  returned  Eliza.  "Mr. 
Sidney's  got  an  oil-stove.  I  do  hope  he  won't 
smoke  up  everything.  I  tried  to  scare  him,  — 
told  him  he'd  ruin  his  pictures." 

"We  shall  watch  to  see  him  make  the  success 
Mrs.  Ballard  expected,"  said  Mrs.  Wright 
kindly,  seeing  that  Eliza's  heart  was  much  with 
her  dear  one's  heir. 

"He  could  n't  make  anything  but  a  success," 
responded  Eliza. 

Presently  her  trunk  arrived  and  was  carried 
into  the  bedroom  which  Mrs.  Wright  had  ar- 
ranged for  her.  It  was  on  the  ground  floor.  All 

190 


The  Arrival 

the  second  story  of  the  house  was  to  be  left 
unused  in  the  cold  weather. 

In  the  evening  Captain  James  came  back  a 
third  time  to  play  checkers  with  Mr.  Wright. 
It  seemed  to  be  a  daily  custom;  but  soon  after 
the  supper  dishes  were  washed,  Mrs.  Wright 
insisted  on  her  tired  guest  getting  into  bed  for  a 
long  night's  rest. 

Pluto  had  leaped  to  the  shed  and  thence 
out  into  the  black  darkness  of  the  cloud-laden 
night. 

Eliza  went  to  the  door  to  call  him,  but  her 
most  ingratiating  invitations  were  ignored. 

"Oh,  go  to  bed,  Eliza,"  said  Captain  James, 
who  had  just  opened  the  checker-board. 
"What  ye  'fraid  of?  Traid  he'll  jump  off  the 
bank?  He  ain't  fond  enough  o'  the  water,  I'll 
bet.  Go  to  bed  and  don't  worry.  Have  n't  ye 
ever  heard  the  song,  'The  cat  came  back,  he 
could  n't  stay  away '  ? " 

"You  know,  James,"  said  Eliza,  ashamed  of 
her  anxiety,  but  nevertheless  too  much  affected 
by  it  to  seek  her  pillow  while  her  pet  was  home- 
less, "you  know  it's  places,  not  people,  with  a 
cat,  selfish  critters." 

"Well,"  responded  the  captain,  "he  can't  get 
back  to  New  York  'cause  the  walkin'  's  so 

191 


The  Inner  Flame 

poor."  As  he  spoke,  a  dark  shadow  passed  into 
the  light  that  streamed  from  the  window. 

With  the  quickest  movement  of  her  life,  Eliza 
jumped  off  the  doorstep  and  pounced  upon  it. 
It  was  Pluto,  and  she  held  him  [under  her  arm 
with  a  vice-like  grip  as  she  reentered  the  house. 

"Good-night,  all,"  she  said,  rather  shame- 
faced. 

"Good-night,  Eliza,"  said  Mrs.  Wright,  who 
had  taken  up  a  book.  "Your  lamp  is  lighted." 

When  Eliza  had  reached  her  room,  she  closed 
the  door  and  dropped  the  cat,  who  leaped 
toward  it,  and  finding  exit  hopeless,  looked  up 
at  her,  night-fires  gleaming  in  his  eyes. 

"See  here,  Pluto,"  said  Eliza  severely,  "will 
you  stop  actin'  so  crazy?  I  tell  you  we're  home; 
home.  If  ever  two  folks  ought  to  be  filled  to  the 
brim  with  gratitude  it's  you  and  me.  I'll  give 
you  a  chance  to  look  around  here  in  daylight 
and  get  your  bearin's,  and  then,  if  you  don't 
behave  as  if  you  had  some  sense,  I  '11  put  you  in 
the  chicken-house  and  you  shall  live  there.  Do 
you  hear  that?" 

She  stooped  to  smooth  the  jetty  fur  to  offset 
in  a  measure  her  severity;  but  Pluto  glided 
from  beneath  her  hand  and  took  refuge  beneath 
the  bed. 

192 


The  Arrival 

"Well,  of  all  the  fools!"  she  soliloquized. 
Nevertheless  she  knew  what  the  temperature  of 
the  room  would  be  by  the  small  hours,  and, 
taking  an  old  knitted  grey  shawl  from  her 
trunk,  she  threw  it  under  the  bed. 


CHAPTER  XI 

MRS.  FABIAN'S  GIFTS 

MRS.  FABIAN  had  taken  her  daughter  to  the 
train  before  she  appeared  to  Pat's  amazed  eyes 
at  the  stable  door.  Her  chagrin  at  discovering 
the  removal  of  the  barrel  did  not  prevent  her 
recognition  of  the  discomforts  of  Phil's  north- 
lighted  chamber.  Her  nostrils  dilated  as  she 
looked  about  her  at  the  rumpled  pile  of  blankets 
where  the  artist  had  evidently  slept;  the  un- 
lighted  stove,  and  the  open  windows  through 
which  came  an  eager  and  a  nipping  air. 

"Poor  boy!  Poor  boy!"  she  said  to  herself 
repeatedly. 

She  had  had  an  unpleasant  fifteen  minutes 
with  Kathleen  in  the  motor,  for  the  girl  had 
asked  her  directly  if  she  intended  to  kidnap  the 
missent  barrel,  and  she  had  replied  in  an  em- 
phatic affirmative. 

"Would  you  rather  have  those  old  dishes 
than  Mr.  Sidney's  respect?"  Kathleen  asked 
her. 

Mrs.  Fabian  looked  her  surprise.  "It  sounds 
194 


Mrs.  Fabian's  Gifts 

very  absurd  to  hear  you  call  Phil  'Mr.  Sidney,' " 
she  said,  fencing.  "Don't  you  remember  your 
Aunt  Mary  Sidney  ? " 

"Indeed,  I  do." 

Mrs.  Fabian's  mind  was  of  the  sort  which 
associates  social  status  indissolubly  with 
money.  She  had  always  felt  that  in  winning  a 
millionaire  for  a  husband,  she  had  married 
above  her;  and,  shaking  off  her  own  humble 
family  connection  wherever  possible,  had  tried 
to  be  as  nearly  all  Fabian  as  circumstances  per- 
mitted. Her  step-children  had  therefore  never 
been  expected  or  requested  to  adopt  her  rela- 
tives as  their  own.  She  now  referred  to  the  one 
memorable  visit  of  Phil's  beautiful  mother  to 
their  island  home,  for  Kathleen's  persistent 
formality  in  referring  to  the  artist  brought  a 
flush  to  her  cheeks. 

If  Kathleen,  the  proud,  the  reserved,  the  self- 
contained,  were  to  pronounce  upon  the  young 
man  unfavorably,  she  should  have  nothing  to 
say  to  the  contrary,  though  she  would  continue 
to  be  kind  to  Mary's  child  in  private. 

"I  was  only  thinking,"  she  continued,  "that 
if  you  still  remember  his  mother  in  your 
thoughts  as  your  Aunt  Mary,  it  seems  rather 
formal  to  tack  a  Mr.  upon  Philip.  You  know, 

195 


The  Inner  Flame 

Kathleen,"  Mrs.  Fabian's  flush  deepened,  "I 
did  not  ask  you  to  go  to  see  him.  I  wanted 
Edgar  to  go,  for  the  looks  of  the  thing,  since 
Phil  is  an  entire  stranger,  and  when  I  found  he 
never  would  go  by  himself,  I  was  thankful  that 
you  took  him.  You  have  been  so  —  so  grouchy 
ever  since,  that  I  'm  sorry  you  went;  but  I  don't 
see  why  you  should  blame  me  for  it.  It  was 
your  own  proposition." 

"I  know,  mother,"  returned  the  girl;  "and 
if  you  will  promise  not  to  go  over  there  and  take 
the  tea-set  I  '11  not  be  grouchy."  The  dark  eyes 
lifted  wistfully  to  Mrs.  Fabian's  astonished 
countenance. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  my  forfeiting  Phil's 
respect?"  she  asked.  "Do  you  mean  that  he 
wants  them  so  much  ?  Why,  they'll  be  smashed 
or  stolen  in  that  rough  place.  They'll  be  no- 
thing but  a  nuisance  to  him." 

"They  belong  to  Eliza,"  pleaded  Kathleen. 

"They  belong  to  me!"  retorted  Mrs.  Fabian 
explosively.  "Philip  will  see  that  at  once." 

Kathleen's  lips  closed.  They  had  arrived  at 
the  station,  and  she  said  no  more;  but  she 
departed  with  one  consoling  thought.  Mrs. 
Fabian  had  misdirected  herself  and  Edgar  the 
day  before.  Perhaps  she  could  not  find  the 

196 


Mrs.  Fabian's  Gifts 

place  to-day;  but  that  lady,  as  soon  as  the  car 
door  was  closed  on  her  child,  spoke  through  the 
tube  to  the  chauffeur. 

"Drive,"  she  said,  "to  the  same  place  in 
Gramercy  Park  where  you  took  Miss  Kathleen 
yesterday." 

,  Soon  she  was  face  to  face  with  Pat,  and 
presently  standing  in  Phil's  forlorn  apartment. 
The  pieces  of  Mrs.  Ballard's  bedstead  were  still 
leaning  against  the  wall. 

She  pictured  Kathleen  the  fastidious,  the 
dainty,  perching  on  that  pile  of  blankets;  but  if 
the  girl  had  despised  the  poverty-stricken  art- 
student,  why  was  she  so  strenuous  and  persist- 
ent as  to  retaining  his  respect?  Why  had  she 
left  for  the  studio  in  the  best  of  spirits,  and 
returned  distrait,  behaving  in  an  absent- 
minded  manner  ever  since. 

"Kathleen  is  a  great  deal  more  tender- 
hearted than  she  appears.  I  believe  she  pitied 
Phil  so  much  it  made  her  blue,  and  she  could  n't 
bear  to  have  me  take  away  the  only  pretty 
things  he  had.  Well,  it  seems  Fm  not  going 
to!" 

Mrs.  Fabian  even  opened  the  closet  door.  A 
few  suits  of  clothes  hung  within,  but  the  rest 
was  chaos;  and  in  that  chaos  no  welcome  curves 

197 


The  Inner  Flame 

of  a  barrel  were  to  be  found.  Her  alert  eyes 
made  a  hasty  but  comprehensive  search  of  the 
room. 

"The  boy  drank  his  coffee  out  of  that  mug!" 
she  decided.  "He  is  not  in  a  mountain  camp 
and  he  shall  not  live  as  if  he  were.  He  shall  see 
that  he  is  not  dependent  on  Eliza  Brewster  for 
the  decencies  of  life!" 

Then  followed  her  descent  upon  Pat,  her 
catechism,  and  her  magnificent  departure. 

Scarcely  had  Phil  received  the  Irishman's 
account  of  the  visit  and  gone  up  to  his  room 
that  afternoon,  when  he  heard  a  knocking  on 
the  stable  door;  and  when  Pat  had  opened  it,  a 
violent  expletive  from  somebody. 

Phil  stood  still  to  listen.  Surely  he  could  not 
be  connected  with  the  present  invasion,  what- 
ever it  might  be.  His  circle  of  acquaintance  in 
Gotham  had  come,  done  its  best  and  its  worst, 
and  departed  for  all  time. 

"Misther  Sidney,  sor,"  yelled  Pat  from  the 
foot  of  the  stairs.  "  'T  is  the  barr'l  come  back. 
Sure,  and  is  it  worth  while  to  tin'  it  up,  whin 
it  can't  be  at  rest!" 

"  It  is  n't  for  me,"  called  Phil,  coming  out  in 
his  little  hallway.  "I  refuse  to  live  in  such  a 
whirl  of  excitement." 

198 


Mrs.  Fabian's  Gifts 

"It  is  fer  you,  else  all  the  money  spint  on 
me  eddication  is  gone  fer  nothin'  —  and  faith 
there's  more  to  follow,"  added  Pat,  in  a  tone 
of  such  sudden  surprise  that  Phil  ran  down- 
stairs faster  than  he  had  gone  up.  A  couch  was 
approaching  the  stable  door.  This  was  followed 
by  several  large  packages,  upon  one  of  which 
was  tied  a  letter,  and  at  last  a  Morris  chair 
entered  upon  the  scene. 

"Ye 're  the  very  soul  of  extravagance,"  said 
Pat  severely,  when  the  delivery  man  had  de- 
parted. "If  ye 're  a  poor  art-shtudent,  say  so; 
but  if  ye 're  a  prince  in  disguise,  out  with  it!" 

"This  is  a  surprise  party  if  I  ever  had  one," 
declared  Phil  slowly,  staring  around  at  the 
objects. 

"Poor  art-shtudents  don't  buy  iligant  couches 
with  box  springs  long  enough  fer  the  lord 
mayor!"  said  Pat,  unconvinced.  "What  brings 
ye  to  a  stable  whin  yeVe  the  Queen  o*  Sheby 
fer  an  aunt?" 

At  the  word  a  light  illumined  the  situation. 

"For  a  fact,  Pat!  You  did  tell  me  my  aunt 
was  here!"  And  in  a  flash  Phil's  mind  reverted 
to  Kathleen  with  a  sensation  of  gratitude.  In 
some  way  she  had  prevented  the  disagreeable 
details  of  yesterday  from  angering  her  mother. 

199 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Give  me  a  hand  up,  Pat,"  he  said.  "I'll 
guarantee  this  barrel  will  stay  where  it's  put." 

When  they  had  all  the  articles  upstairs,  Phil 
found  himself  possessed  of  a  springy  bed  with 
ample  clothing  for  the  night,  and  ample  couch 
cushions  for  day;  well-selected  dishes,  alcohol 
lamp  and  copper  kettle,  and  a  table  on  which  to 
stand  them,  a  reading-lamp,  and  the  easy-chair. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?"  he  said,  looking 
about  half-dazed. 

"I  think  ye 're  in  the  wrong  box,  bein*  in  a 
stable,"  answered  Pat,  scratching  his  head  in 
perplexity. 

"No,  no,"  Phil  laughed;  "a  box  stall  for  me. 
Wait  till  you  see  me  scattering  paint  around 
here." 

"Faith,  I  have  me  doubts  o'  you,"  said  Pat. 

His  Irish  dislike  of  voicing  the  unpleasant 
withheld  him  from  expressing  his  thought;  but 
as  he  regarded  Phil  now,  standing  coatless,  and 
with  tossed  hair,  looking  about  his  transformed 
apartment,  he  decided  that  he  was  viewing  the 
black  sheep  of  a  wealthy  family,  the  masculine 
members  of  which  had  left  him  to  his  own  pov- 
erty-stricken devices,  while  his  softer-hearted 
female  relatives  were  surreptitiously  ameliorat- 
ing his  hard  lot.  It  was  difficult  to  see  Phil  in 

20Q 


Mrs.  Fabian's  Gifts 

the  role  of  black  sheep,  but  Pat  was  sophisti- 
cated and  knew  that  appearances  were  deceit- 
ful. 

"Pat,"  said  the  perplexing  tenant  suddenly, 
"I  begin  to  believe  I  was  born  with  a  silver 
spoon  in  my  mouth.  I'm  the  happiest  fellow 
in  the  world." 

"Sure  a  man  does  n't  say  that  till  his  wed- 
ding-day," objected  Pat. 

Phil  smiled  confidently.  "I  told  you  I  had 
the  girl;  and  she's  the  faithfullest  of  the  faith- 
ful." 

"You  bet  she  is,"  returned  the  Irishman  de- 
voutly. "  Whativer  you  've  done,  the  gurr'l  gets 
her  hands  on  you  once  '11  niver  let  go." 

"Whatever  I've  done?  What  do  you  think 
I  Ve  done  ? "  laughed  Phil.  "Here 's  my  mother. 
Want  to  see  her? "  And  he  sorted  several  leaves 
from  the  pile  of  sketches  and  laid  them  out  on 
the  new  table. 

"It's  swate  she  is !"  said  the  Irishman,  gazing 
with  interest;  and,  perceiving  the  expression  in 
the  artist's  eyes  as  he  looked  upon  the  pictures, 
he  spoke  suspiciously:  "She  ain't  the  gurr'l 
ye'retalkin'of?" 

"No,  no,"  returned  Phil,  "but  she  entirely 
approves  of  the  match." 
201 


The  Inner  Flame 

"That  helps,  ye  know,"  said  Pat  benevo- 
lently. "  'T  is  well  to  get  airly  settled  in  life, 
thin  if"  —  he  made  a  lenient  gesture  —  "if 
yeVe  played  too  many  cards  or  made  any 
other  mistakes,  ye  soon  lave  thim  behind  ye  and 
there's  little  time  wasted." 

That  evening  Phil  called  up  the  Fabian  house, 
and,  finding  that  Mrs.  Fabian  was  to  be  at 
home,  soon  presented  himself  in  that  lady's 
boudoir. 

Mrs.  Fabian,  in  a  becoming  negligee,  sat 
before  an  open  fire;  a  soft  lamp  at  her  elbow, 
and  a  French  novel  in  her  hand. 

"You  know  the  naughty  things  in  a  French 
story  are  so  stimulating,  Phil,"  she  explained, 
when  he  commented  on  her  book.  "You 
would  n't  think  of  reading  the  same  things  in 
English;  but  you  get  so  curious  to  know  what 
it 's  all  about,  that  you  work,  and  study,  and  I 
find  it  very  helpful.  Excuse  my  not  rising  to 
greet  you.  I've  had  an  exhausting  day;  so  as 
Edgar  was  n't  coming  home,  and  Mr.  Fabian 
had  to  attend  a  banquet,  I  had  my  dinner 
brought  to  me  here." 

"I'm  sure  it  is  I  who  have  exhausted  you," 
said  Phil,  drawing  his  chair  close  to  the  lux- 
urious downy  nest  which  was  embracing  her 

202 


Mrs.  Fabian's  Gifts 

plump  person.  "I  don't  know  what  to  say  to 
you,  Aunt  Isabel,"  he  added  gratefully,  regard- 
ing her  as  she  half-reclined,  a  living  example  of 
what  can  be  accomplished  by  beauty-doctor 
and  accomplished  maid. 

She  placed  her  white  hand,  with  its  perfect 
rosy  tips,  for  an  instant  on  his,  then  she  patted 
the  folds  of  her  violet  gown. 

"Now,  don't  say  a  word,  my  dear,"  she  re- 
turned, complacency  lighting  her  countenance. 
Her  husband  had  little  time  for  compliments, 
Edgar  was  uniformly  ungrateful,  and  Phil  was 
very  handsome.  She  remembered  how  charm- 
ing had  seemed  to  her  the  relation  between  him 
and  his  mother;  and  she  felt  a  longing  to  evoke 
something  like  that  affection  for  herself. 

"But,  indeed,  I  shall  say  a  great  deal,"  he 
declared.  "You  've  turned  my  camp  over  there 
into  the  lap  of  luxury.  I  go  on  accepting  things, 
everybody  seems  in  a  conspiracy  to  prevent  my 
having  any  hardships,  so  I  suspect  I  'm  going  to 
catch  them  at  the  school." 

"Are  n't  the  teachers  agreeable?" 

"Well,  I've  been  there  only  a  few  days,  but  I 

see  already  that  doctors  disagree  there  as  they 

do  elsewhere.  One  comes  and  tells  you  you're 

all   right,   and  the  next  declares  you're  all 

203 


The  Inner  Flame 

wrong;  but  I'm  after  the  fundamental  training 
I've  never  had,  and  I'm  going  to  get  it  if  I 
make  their  lives  a  burden  to  them." 

"I  don't  pretend  to  know  anything  about 
art,  Phil,"  said  the  hostess  complacently,  "and 
I  'm  not  going  to  add  that  I  know  what  I  like, 
either,  so  you  need  n't  smile  at  the  fire;  but 
from  those  sketches  of  yours  that  I  saw  out  at 
the  mine  I  could  see  that  you  were  bound  to 
accomplish  something  if  you  had  free  rein. 
Kathleen  was  delighted  with  them." 

"I  was  much  pleased  to  meet  Miss  Fabian," 
said  Phil. 

"Dear  me,  why  should  you  children  be  so 
formal!"  exclaimed  his  hostess.  "'Miss  Fa- 
bian'! 'Mr.  Sidney'!  It's  ridiculous  when  you 
consider  your  mother  and  me  —  more  like 
sisters  than  cousins  as  we  are." 

Philip  bit  his  lip.  The  description  struck  him 
as  diverting,  considering  the  lapse  of  years 
during  which  his  mother  had  heard  nothing 
from  this  cousin. 

"I  shall  be  very  glad  if  Miss  Fabian  will  let 
me  know  her  better,"  he  said. 

"It's  a  very,  very  strange  thing,  Phil,"  went 
on  Mrs.  Fabian,  shaking  her  waved  head  and 
gazing  at  the  fire,  "to  be  a  step-mother.  I 

204 


Mrs.  Fabian's  Gifts 

should  have  always  said  that  environment  was 
more  powerful  than  heredity;  but  I've  had 
those  children  almost  from  babyhood,"  —  the 
speaker  challenged  Phil  with  impressive  eyes, 
—  "and  yet  I  look  at  them,  yes,  I  assure  you,  I 
look  at  them  as  a  hen  might  look  at  the  ducks 
she  had  hatched." 

Phil  saw  that  he  was  intended  to  respond,  so 
he  changed  his  position  and  made  a  soft,  inar- 
ticulate exclamation. 

"Those  children,"  declared  Mrs.  Fabian, 
"would  probably  both  claim  that  they  under- 
stood me  from  a  to  z;  but  I  am  frank  enough  to 
state  that  I  understand  neither  of  them.  Now, 
I'm  going  to  tell  you,  Phil,  that  I  am  hanging 
great  hopes  upon  your  influence  over  Edgar." 

"My  dear  Aunt  Isabel!"  ejaculated  the  visi- 
tor. Phil's  gratitude  to  this  relative  did  not 
blind  him  to  her  characteristics,  or  as  to  how 
her  idle  and  fashionable  life  had  reflected  in  the 
bringing-up  or  coming-up  of  her  son. 

"Now,  don't  say  no,  Phil,"  she  went  on.  "I 
don't  expect  that  you  found  any  kindred  spirit 
in  Edgar,  but  I  'm  going  to  be  frank,  his  father 
is  so  out  of  patience  with  him  that  he  is-  severe, 
and  I  am  hoping  that  the  sight  of  your  economy 
will  show  Edgar  that  something  beside  extrava- 
205 


The  Inner  Flame 

gance  can  bring  happiness;  and  the  sight  of 
your  industry  will  rebuke  his  idle  tastes." 

"  I  can't  conceive  of  myself  as  an  example  to 
the  young,"  laughed  Phil  uncomfortably.  "I 
half  suspected  yesterday  that  you  had  been 
holding  me  up  before  Edgar.  There  are  n't  any 
comparisons  to  be  made  between  a  gilded  youth 
and  a  painter,  and  I  assure  you  it  is  no  lofty 
principle  that  makes  me  care  little  where  I  live 
and  eat.  It  is  only  a  desire  to  do  a  certain  thing, 
so  intense  that  it  dwarfs  every  other  need." 

"He  has  overpowering  desires,  too,"  said 
Mrs.  Fabian  bitterly;  "  but  it  is  to  go  yachting 
and  play  polo  and  drink  champagne."  She 
sighed.  "I  suppose  I  have  n't  known  how  to  be 
a  good  mother,"  she  added  with  dejection,  "but 
there,"  —  her  voice  grew  suddenly  argumenta- 
tive, —  "look  at  Kathleen !  I  Ve  brought  them 
up  alike,  but  she  is  the  other  extreme.  She  has 
no  taste  for  pleasure.  She's  a  natural  student 
and  bookworm;  and  what  I  am  to  do  with  her 
when  she  graduates,  Heaven  only  knows.  I 
shall  insist  upon  her  coming  out,"  added  Mrs. 
Fabian  virtuously.  "She  must  go  through  the 
same  form  as  the  other  girls  in  her  set,  and  it 
may  be  that  a  reaction  will  set  in  and  she  will 
find  a  normal  satisfaction  in  it.  It  will  break  my 

206 


Mrs.  Fabian's  Gifts 

heart  if  she  drops  out  and  becomes  one  of  these 
poky  oddities.  Well,"  —  another  sigh,  —  "I 
must  n't  borrow  trouble.  Were  you  surprised 
at  my  early  morning  call  at  your  room,  Phil?  I 
hoped  I  should  be  early  enough  to  catch  you." 

"  I  was  surprised ;  but  it  was  a  lucky  visit  for 
me,  even  though  I  was  not  there." 

"I'm  glad  you're  pleased  with  those  little 
comforts;  but  I  shall  be  frank,  —  it  was  to  try 
to  get  my  grandmother's  silver  that  I  went.  If 
you  had  known  you  were  working  against  me, 
Phil,  you  would  n't  have  helped  that  crazy 
Eliza  to  carry  the  things  away." 

"They  belong  to  her,  she  tells  me,"  said  Phil 
simply.  "  Aunt  Mary  seemed  to  think  you  were 
living  in  an  embarrassment  of  riches  anyway." 

"Then  you  should  have  shipped  them  to  your 
mother.  It's  quite  indecent  that  a  servant 
should  have  them.  It  reflects  upon  your  mother 
and  me.  Can't  you  see  that,  Phil?" 

He  stirred  his  broad  shoulders  uncom- 
fortably. 

"  I  'm  glad  you  are  n't  going  to  blame  me  for 
it  anyway,"  he  returned,  looking  at  his  hostess 
with  a  frank  smile.  "After  all  they're  only 
things,  you  know.  The  important  part  is  how 
Aunt  Mary  felt  about  them,  is  n't  it  ?  You 

207 


The  Inner  Flame 

know  probably  what  sort  of  thoughts  she  had 
about  you  in  her  last  days." 

Mrs.  Fabian  looked  at  him  with  quick 
suspicion  as  he  rose  to  go.  Was  he  rebuking 
her  in  spite  of  his  smile? 

"Some  people  marry  into  a  family,"  she 
said  after  the  pause.  "  Some  marry  out  of  one. 
I  did  both.  I  married  a  man  with  children,  and 
a  big  establishment.  I  simply  married  out  of 
my  family.  I  did  n't  have  time  to  attend  to 
both,  and  any  right-minded  person  can  see 
where  my  duty  lay!" 

The  virtuousness  in  the  speaker's  face  and 
voice  were  so  enveloping  that  they  created  an 
atmosphere  in  which  Phil  was  able  to  make  his 
adieux  without  further  embarrassment. 


CHAPTER  XII 

MRS.  FABIAN'S  DINNER  LIST 

FOR  the  next  two  months,  Phil,  to  his  entire 
satisfaction,  had  practically  no  social  life.  One 
or  two  of  his  fellow  students  found  their  way  to 
the  stable  studio,  envying  him  loudly  when 
they  viewed  it,  but  for  the  most  part  he  suc- 
ceeded in  keeping  his  castle  to  himself.  Aunt 
Mary's  easel  found  a  good  situation.beneath  the 
north  light,  and  the  evenings  were  spent  in  read- 
ing works  calculated  to  help  him  on  his  way. 

Occasionally  the  satisf  actoriness  of  his  lamp  or 
his  easy-chair  would  cause  him  to  start  in  a  panic 
and  begin  to  figure  how  long  a  time  had  elapsed 
since  he  had  called  on  his  benefactress ;  usually 
discovering  that  it  was  high  time  to  go  again. 

Frequently  he  declined  invitations  from  Mrs. 
Fabian  to  dine,  giving  the  excuse  of  incessant 
occupation.  Once  in  a  while,  on  the  occasion  of 
these  duty  calls,  he  saw  Edgar,  and  the  latter 
prided  himself  on  the  subtle  implication  of 
injury  which  he  infused  into  the  perfunctory 
courtesy  of  a  host. 

209 


The  Inner  Flame 

Phil  saw  it,  and,  while  he  was  amused,  he 
gave  Edgar  some  credit  for  not  having  carried 
out  the  threat  to  tell  his  mother  how  Phil  had 
guarded  her  dignity  with  Eliza. 

"  So  there  are  some  things  too  petty  for  him, 
after  all,"  thought  Phil  carelessly;  but  he  sus- 
pected and  was  grateful  for  Kathleen's  inter- 
vention. 

When  Edgar  was  not  in  evidence,  Phil  rather 
enjoyed  an  evening  with  his  aunt.  It  gave  him 
an  opportunity  to  talk  about  his  mother,  and 
Mrs.  Fabian  could  tell  him  events  of  their  girl- 
hood. She  soon  found  that  no  occurrence  in 
which  Mary  Sidney  had  figured  was  too  trifling 
to  bring  the  light  of  close  attention  into  the 
young  fellow's  eyes. 

"Dear  me,"  she  said  one  night  when  they 
were  alone  together,  and  she  had  been  en- 
tertaining him  with  reminiscence,  "I  won- 
der how  your  mother  made  you  love  her 
so." 

There  was  a  sincere  wistfulness  in  her  tone 
that  touched  Phil.  He  laughed  with  some  em- 
barrassment, throwing  a  glance  around  the  too- 
gorgeous  room. 

"I  don't  believe  she  went  for  to  do  it,"  he 
said.  "  I  contracted  the  habit  early." 

210 


Mrs.  Fabian 's  Dinner  List 

"But  Edgar  was  only  five  years  old  when  I 
married  his  father,"  said  Mrs.  Fabian  plaint- 
ively. 

"We  did  n't  have  any  money,"  said  Phil. 
"Perhaps  that  helped.  Mother  and  I  were  pals, 
you  see;  had  to  be.  She  could  afford  only  one 
maid." 

"It's  true  I  was  very,  very  busy,"  admitted 
Mrs.  Fabian  thoughtfully,  with  the  return  of 
her  ever-ready  tone  of  virtue.  "  I  had  the  best 
nurses  and  governesses.  They  could  n't  speak  a 
wcjrd  of  English,  —  and  I  did  n't  neglect  the 
children.  I  made  it  a  point  to  hear  them  say 
their  prayers  every  night  that  I  was  n't  going 
out." 

Phil's  clasped  finger  tips  were  pressed  to  his 
lips  and  he  did  not  reply  to  this.  He  admired 
Mrs.  Fabian's  exquisite  costumes,  and  now  he 
dropped  his  twinkling  eyes  to  the  hem  of  her 
gossamer  gown. 

"How  often  do  you  write  to  your  mother?" 
pursued  Mrs.  Fabian. 

"I'd  be  ashamed  to  tell  you,"  he  answered. 

She  sighed.  "It's  beautiful,"  she  declared; 
again  wistful.  "I  suppose  she  has  told  you 
about  our  dear  old  dull  island." 

"Brewster's  Island?    I  don't  remember  her 

211 


The  Inner  Flame 

talking  of  it;  but  Eliza  has  spoken  of  my  mother 
having  been  there." 

At  the  mention  of  her  humble  enemy  Mrs. 
Fabian's  nostrils  dilated.  "Eliza!"  she  re- 
peated indignantly.  "Every  time  I  think  of  the 
impudence  of  that  woman  — "  she  paused,  at  a 
loss  for  words. 

"  I  suppose  the  island  was  named  for  Eliza's 
family,"  hazarded  Phil. 

"I  suppose  so.  You  may  call  nearly  every 
islander  'Brewster,'  and  seldom  go  wrong."  Mrs. 
Fabian  continued:  "Edgar  made  a  joke  of  the 
barrel  affair,  but  Kathleen  put  on  tragedy  airs 
at  the  idea  of  my  trying  to  get  my  own.  Kath- 
leen knows  so  much  more  than  her  mother,  you 
understand.  She  knows  so  much  more  about 
everything  than  she  will  ten  years  from  now. 
It's  rather  painful.  Well,  of  course  you  did  n't 
realize  what  you  were  doing  in  helping  Eliza 
spirit  the  things  away.  I'm  glad  the  creature 
has  gone,  for  your  sake.  She  would  have  been  a 
dreadful  bore  to  you  as  a  part  of  Aunt  Mary's 
legacy." 

"I  feel  very  kindly  toward  Eliza,"  said  Phil. 
Aunt  Mary's  letter  was  against  his  heart  where 
it  always  lay.  "She  did  too  much  for  Aunt 
Mary  for  me  ever  to  forget  it." 

212 


Mrs.  Fabian 's  Dinner  List 

"But  you  did  n't  know  Aunt  Mary." 

"Not  until  she  had  gone.  Then  she  revealed 
herself  to  me  in  a  letter.  I  seem  to  have  seen 
her  at  her  patient  work." 

"Yes,  and  Eliza  has  probably  told  you  that 
I  neglected  her."  Mrs.  Fabian  colored  and 
looked  at  Phil  defensively. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  simply. 

"It's  a  wonder  she  did  n't  make  you  hate 
me.  I  know  what  a  virago  the  creature  can 
be." 

"I  like,"  said  Phil,  — "I  like  that  saying, 
1  Yesterday  is  as  dead  as  Egypt.'  I  like  to  feel 
that  the  only  enemy  a  man  can  have  is  himself." 

"  I  'm  glad  you  don't  hate  me,  Phil,"  returned 
Mrs.  Fabian,  again  plaintive.  "I  have  enough 
troubles.  'Qui  s'excuse,  s'accuse,'  and  I  shall 
not  try  to  explain  to  you  why  I  saw  so  little  of 
Aunt  Mary;  but  it  is  beyond  belief  that  a  com- 
mon creature  like  Eliza  should  dare  to  sit  in 
judgment  on  a  person  in  my  position." 

"Eliza  is  not  a  common  creature,"  said  Phil 
quietly. 

"  I  see.  Her  devotion  is  all  you  think  of.  We 
won't  talk  of  her,  then.  —  What  are  you  going 
to  do  in  the  summer,  Phil?" 

"Work!"  he  answered,  smiling. 
213 


The  Inner  Flame 

'Not  under  that  stable  roof.  I  won't  permit 


it." 


"Then  I'll  take  the  road.  There's  nothing  I 
know  better  than  how  to  be  a  tramp." 

At  this  juncture  Mr.  Fabian  came  in  from  his 
library.  He  was  a  smooth-shaven  man,  com- 
fortably stout;  and  the  stern  lines  on  his  fore- 
head and  about  his  mouth  softened  at  sight  of 
Phil,  who  rose  to  greet  him. 

"What  of  the  mine?"  asked  the  newcomer, 
seating  himself. 

"Oh,  father's  digging  away,"  returned  Phil. 
"He  probably  tells  you  more  than  he  does  me." 

Mr.  Fabian  drew  his  brows  together. 

"Not  sick  of  the  picture  business  yet?"  he 
asked,  regarding  the  young  man  curiously. 

Phil  shook  his  head  and  laughed.  He  knew  Mr. 
Fabian's  disapproval  of  his  chosen  profession. 

"I  was  just  about  telling  Phil,"  said  Mrs. 
Fabian,  "that  he  must  visit  us  at  the  island 
next  summer." 

Mr.  Fabian  nodded  cordially.  "Care  for 
sailing?"  he  asked. 

"  I  never  had  a  chance  to  know.  Horses  and 
tramping  and  camping  have  given  me  all  my 
outings  so  far." 

"Then  you  must  come.  We'll  have  a  cruise. 
214 


Mrs.  Fabian 's  Dinner  List 

I've  only  a  small  yacht,  for  I  prefer  to  run  it 
myself  with  a  few  friends." 

"That  sounds  attractive,  but  I  shan't 
indulge,  I  think." 

"Why,  what  sort  of  a  painter  is  it  who 
does  n't  do  marines?"  asked  Mrs.  Fabian. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  returned  Phil,  smiling.  "I'll 
do  them  at  Coney  Island." 

When  he  had  taken  his  departure  Mrs. 
Fabian  turned  to  her  husband. 

"Is  n't  it  a  shame,"  she  said,  "for  a  boy  like 
that  not  to  have  any  money?" 

"No,"  responded  her  husband.  "It's  in  his 
favor.  The  shame  is  that  a  fine  husky  chap  like 
that  should  give  himself  over  to  paint-pots.  I  'd 
make  a  position  for  him  in  the  office  if  he'd 
come.  I  wish  I  had  a  son  like  that." 

When  her  husband  made  this  sort  of  refer- 
ence, Mrs.  Fabian  was  glad  that  she  was  not 
Edgar's  own  mother;  yet  since  she  had  known 
Phil  she  had  never  entirely  escaped  a  conscious- 
ness that  Mary  Sidney  would  have  bent  the 
twig  in  Edgar's  childhood  in  a  manner  to  have 
produced  a  different  inclination  in  the  tree. 

As  Christmas  approached,  Mrs.  Fabian  de- 
tained her  son  one  evening  as  he  was  about  to 
leave  the  house. 

215 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Edgar,  you  are  always  in  such  a  hurry,"  she 
complained.  "  I  never  can  catch  you  for  a  word 
except  at  table  when  the  servants  are  about. 
Sit  down  for  five  minutes." 

The  youth  paused  reluctantly.  "  I  must  keep 
my  engagements,"  he  said,  shrugging  his 
shoulders,  "and  since  the  Administration  has 
shut  down  on  my  using  the  car  at  night,  I  have 
to  live  by  my  wits ;  in  other  words,  sponge  on 
other  people's  motors  as  much  as  possible." 

"You  know,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Fabian,  "your 
father  did  n't  do  that  until  we  found,  even- 
ing after  evening,  that  we  could  never  have  the 
car  ourselves.  Somehow  or  other,  Edgar,  you 
manage  very  badly.  You  always  rub  your  fa- 
ther the  wrong  way." 

Edgar's  chest  in  his  dress  shirt  rose  very 
high.  "I'm  not  the  cringing,  begging  sort,"  he 
returned.  "Unless  a  thing  is  offered  me  freely 
I  don't  care  for  it." 

In  the  last  month  he  had  affected  a  short, 
pointed  mustache,  and  this  he  now  twisted  with 
a  haughty  air. 

Mrs.  Fabian's  sense  of  humor  was  latent,  but 

she  smiled  now.    "Sit  down  a  minute,  dear," 

she  said.    "It  won't  detain  you,  for  you  may 

use  the  car  to-night.    Your  father  has  just 

216 


Mrs.  Fabian 's  Dinner  List 

'phoned  that  he  is  obliged  to  attend  a  sudden 
meeting  of  directors,  so  I  have  to  give  up  the 
opera  —  unless  you  will  go  with  me?" 

Edgar  regarded  his  mother's  charming  toilet 
appraisingly.  "I  don't  mind,"  he  said  gra- 
ciously, "if  you  will  ask  Mrs.  Larrabee.  I  was 
going  there  to  call  to-night." 

Mrs.  Fabian's  brow  clouded.  "She  is  so  con- 
spicuous," she  said  persuasively;  "I  wish  you 
did  n't  go  there,  Edgar.  Why  are  all  the  men 
daft  about  her  when  there  are  so  many  sweet 
young  girls  so  much  better  worth  their  atten- 
tion?" 

"Shall  I  see  if  she  is  disengaged?"  asked 
Edgar  alertly.  "If  she  cares  to  go  I  can  come 
back  and  talk  with  you." 

"Oh,  yes,"  Mrs.  Fabian  sighed  resignedly; 
and  Edgar '  disappeared,  presently  returning, 
a  self-satisfied  smile  curving  the  little  mus- 
tache. 

"She  was  gracious,  evidently,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Fabian. 

"Says  she  was  saving  this  evening  for  me 
anyway,  and  will  be  delighted,"  said  Edgar, 
seating  himself.  "She  says  she  is  glad  it  is  a 
Caruso  night,  for  she  can  prove  to  me  that  I 
ought  to  be  on  his  side  of  the  footlights." 
217 


The  Inner  Flame 

"That's  the  way  she  does  it,  is  it?"  returned 
Mrs.  Fabian. 

"Oh,  she  means  it,"  declared  Edgar  quickly. 
"She's  the  most  sincere  creature  alive.  Every- 
body knows  that." 

"Where  is  Mr.  Larrabee?  I've  never  seen 
him  yet.  Does  anybody  see  him?" 

"His  clerks,  I  fancy,"  returned  Edgar,  with 
his  careless,  gleeful  smile. 

"It's  really  a  pity  the  woman's  so  well  con- 
nected," said  Mrs.  Fabian.  "She  is  insolently 
daring.  Did  you  tell  her  you  were  taking  me?" 

"  I  told  her  you  were  asking  her  to  be  so  good 
as  to  accept  an  impromptu  invitation;  that  you 
had  but  just  found  that  you  could  go,  your- 
self." 

Mrs.  Fabian  sighed  again.  "Well,  Edgar, 
then  I  have  earned  a  few  minutes  of  your  time. 
I  'm  going  to  give  a  dinner  for  you  and  Kathleen 
while  she  is  at  home  for  the  holidays.  I  thought 
of  Christmas  night,  with  a  little  informal  dance 
afterward;  and  I  want  you  to  help  me  decide  on 
the  list." 

"Mrs.  Larrabee?"  suggested  Edgar,  twisting 
his  mustache  complacently. 

"Certainly  not,"  returned  his  mother,  with 
energy.  "This  is  to  be  just  for  your  and  Kath- 

218 


Mrs.  Fabian's  Dinner  List 

leen's  young  friends  —  a  simple  Christmas 
merry-making." 

"Couldn't  you  let  me  off?"  asked  Edgar, 
with  his  most  blase,  man-of-the-world  air. 

"Don't  be  absurd,  Edgar  Fabian.  Have  you 
no  interest  in  helping  to  make  your  sister's 
holidays  pleasant?" 

"My  dear  mother,"  protested  the  young 
man,  "in  order  to  make  Kath's  holidays 
pleasant,  all  you  need  to  do  is  to  give  her  a  pair 
of  blue  spectacles  for  a  Christmas  gift,  and  in- 
vite a  few  Columbia  professors  to  engage  her  in 
light  conversation.  If  I  should  send  her  roses, 
she  would  only  analyze  them  and  reel  off  the 
learned  names  of  their  innards." 

"Very  well;  I  am  giving  you  an  opportunity 
to  suggest  some  names  if  you  care  to.  Of  course 
I  shall  ask  Philip  Sidney." 

Edgar  shrugged  again.  "Do  you  suppose  he 
has  any  evening  clothes?" 

"And  Kathleen  suggested  Violet  Manning," 
went  on  Mrs.  Fabian.  "Do  you  remember 
Mrs.  Wright's  niece?  Her  life  must  be  a  dull 


one." 


"So  it  is  to  be  a  dinner  party  of  derelicts," 
said  Edgar;  "a  charity  affair." 

"Kathleen  is  always  thoughtful,"  said  Mrs. 
219 


The  Inner  Flame 

Fabian  reproachfully.  "As  it  is  to  be  on 
Christmas  Day  I  don't  know  that  trying  to 
give  pleasure  to  some  people  who  don't  have 
much  usually  would  be  so  far  out  of  the  way. 
I'm  not  sure  about  Miss  Manning  myself. 
Kathleen  has  suggested  once  or  twice  that,  as 
we  saw  quite  a  little  of  her  at  the  island,  it 
might  be  well  to  show  her  some  courtesy  here; 
but,  as  I  say,  I  'm  not  quite  sure.  What  I  am 
sure  of  is  that  I  will  not  allow  you  to  speak  of 
Philip  Sidney  slightingly  in  my  presence." 

Edgar  looked  up  in  some  surprise. 

"A  derelict,  indeed,"  she  went  on.  "I  wish  I 
might  ever  hope  to  see  you  bring  the  look  into 
your  father's  eyes  that  they  hold  when  he  sees 
Phil." 

"You  choose  a  fine  way  to  make  me  like 
him!"  answered  the  youth;  but  beneath  his 
carelessness  was  a  twinge  which  proved  that  the 
words  went  home.  "  I  remember  Miss  Manning 
now.  She  sailed  with  us  a  few  times." 

"Yes,  and  she  lives  here  with  some  girl  stu- 
dents in  a  bachelor-maid  way,  and  teaches  — " 

"I  remember  the  whole  thing!"  interrupted 
Edgar.  "She dances." 

"What!  The  stage?"  asked  Mrs.  Fabian. 

"No;  some  sort  of  school  business;  more  on 
220 


Mrs.  Fabian 's  Dinner  List 

the  gymnastic  order.   Of  course,  I  remember 
her.  She  did  a  jig  once  on  the  boat." 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  we'd  better  ask  her," 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Fabian  hastily. 

"Yes,  put  her  down,"  said  Edgar.  "If  we're 
going  into  the  charity  business,  I  greatly  prefer 
worthy  girls  who  can  jig;  and  for  the  rest,  you 
and  Kath  fix  it  up.  Christmas  is  a  sort  of  a  lost 
night  anyway.  I  don't  mind." 

And  with  this  gracious  cooperation  Mrs. 
Fabian  was  fain  to  be  content.  Although  she 
felt  somewhat  dubious  about  sending  an  invi- 
tation to  Violet  Manning,  she  concluded  from 
the  vivacity  in  Edgar's  countenance,  as  mem- 
ory awakened,  that  the  purchase  of  his  interest 
was  worth  the  risk. 

Mrs.  Fabian  did  not  care  for  sailing,  and  she 
had  but  a  vague  memory  of  an  inoffensive  girl 
who  arrived  at  the  island  as  Mrs.  Wright's' 
niece.  She  hoped  Miss  Manning's  propensity 
for  jigging  would  not  be  the  cause  of  any  shock 
to  the  carefully  nurtured  buds  who  were 
Kathleen's  friends. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

CHRISTMAS 

IT  was  shortly  after  this  that  a  miniature  riot 
broke  out  in  the  tiny  apartment  where  Violet 
Manning  and  her  two  friends  made  a  home;  and 
it  was  on  the  subject  of  Christmas,  too. 

The  year  before,  Violet  had  spent  the  holi- 
days with  Mrs.  Wright  in  Boston;  but  this  year 
the  loving  letter  which  she  now  held  in  her 
hand  invited  her  cordially  not  to  come  to  the 
island. 

"I  want  to  see  my  little  girl,"  wrote  Mrs. 
Wright,  "but  I  would  rather  risk  the  sort  of 
days  you  will  spend  among  the  many  pupils 
who  are  sure  to  ask  you  than  to  let  you  take  the 
expensive  journey  to  the  island,  so  bleak  and 
cold  as  it  is,  and  with  nothing  to  repay  you  at 
this  end  but  a  hug  from  Aunt  Amy." 

Violet  read  this  aloud,  and  her  two  friends 
listened  attentively. 

"I  told  you,"  said  Roxana,  the  teacher  and 
the  eldest,  "that  Mrs.  Wright  would  n't  let  you 
come.  I  shall  stay  here  with  you."  She  spoke 

222 


Christmas 

firmly.  Her  face  had  the  lines  of  one  who  al- 
ways spoke  firmly. 

"Then  I  shall  stay,  too,"  said  Regina,  the 
art-student. 

"Then  you'll  make  me  miserable,  girls!" 
ejaculated  Violet  energetically,  folding  her 
letter  back  in  its  envelope.  She  was  sitting  on 
the  table,  a  favorite  perch  not  to  be  despised  in 
that  box  of  a  room  where  she  often  said  one 
must  either  be  under  the  table  or  on  it.  She 
swung  both  her  slippered  feet  and  her  blonde 
head.  "Roxy  —  Rex — "  she  added  beseech- 
ingly, "do  you  want  to  ruin  my  holidays?" 

"Rex  can  go,  it's  very  foolish  for  her  to  talk 
about  staying,  when  she  can  go  sleighing  in  the 
country  and  study  the  shadows  on  the  snow," 
said  Roxana. 

"What's  the  use  of  being  a  bachelor  girl  if 
you  can't  have  any  independence?"  inquired 
Violet,  her  blue  eyes,  and  full,  pretty  lips  look- 
ing stormy. 

"The  baby  bachelor  can't  have  everything 
she  wants,"  said  Roxana.  "You're  the  baby 
bachelor.  Rex  may  do  approximately  as  she 
pleases,  but  I  am  the  only  one  entirely  inde- 
pendent. Rex  still  waves  her  hair.  I  stopped  a 
year  ago;  just  forgot  it.  That  was  the  rubicon, 

223 


The  Inner  Flame 

Have  you  heard  of  the  old  colored  mammy  who 
deplored  the  failure  of  her  dear  but  mature  miss 
to  marry?  She  said  to  her  consolingly:  'Never 
mine,  honey,  I'se  known  some  old  maids  who 
settled  down  right  happy  and  contented  when 
they  stopped  strugglinV  I  knew  when  I  forgot 
to  wave  my  hair  that  I'd  stopped  'strugglin'." 
Roxana  rocked  gently.  It  was  the  only  safe 
way  to  rock  in  that  apartment.  "  So  when  that 
time  comes,  Violet,  you  will  see  that  you  have 
earned  independence." 

"Oh,  Rox,  don't  be  so  unkind,"  pleaded 
Violet.  "I've  had  ever  so  many  invitations  for 
Christmas  dinner  from  parents.  I  knew  my 
small  admirers  slapped  them  into  it,  so  I  re- 
fused; but  I  give  you  my  word  that  if  you  will 
go  ahead  with  your  Christmas  plans,  I  will 
write  to  one  of  the  most  ardent,  and  Cinderel- 
la's coach  will  be  nothing  compared  to  the 
limousine  that  will  be  sent  for  me  Christmas 
morning,  and  nothing  will  be  lacking  but  the 
prince  to  make  the  story  complete.  If  you  don't 
promise,  I  '11  sulk  all  the  holidays,  and  I  won't 
stay  with  you  either.  I  '11  go  skating  in  the  park." 

Roxana  smiled  meditatively. 

"Prince!"  repeated  Regina  ecstatically. 
"That  reminds  me  of  mine  again." 

224 


Christmas 

"Oh,  help!"  exclaimed  Violet.  "I've  re- 
minded her  of  Mr.  What's-his-name.  Rex,  if 
you'll  promise  to  go  ahead  with  your  holiday 
doings,  I  '11  let  you  tell  us  again  how  He  came 
into  the  class-room  first,  and  how  He  chose  the 
best  light,  and  how  His  sketches  were  always 
stunning,  and  how  hard  it  was  for  you  not  to 
sketch  Him  instead  of  the  model,  and  I'll  let 
you  show  me  the  head  you  did  of  Him  on  the  sly, 
and  you  shall  tell  us  again  how  you  plotted  for  an 
introduction  and  how  you  did  n't  get  it,  and — " 

"Oh,  hush  up,"  said  Regina  good-naturedly. 
"How  about  that  Mr.  Fabian  you  met  at  the 
island  ?  How  about  the  careless  elegance  of  his 
manners?  How  about  that  wonderful,  heart- 
rending, angelic  voice  in  which  he  sang  on 
moonlight  sails  ?" 

"Dear  me!"  said  Violet,  swinging  her  feet 
and  smiling  with  mischievous  eyes,  "what  a 
wonderful  memory  you  have!  I  had  forgotten 
all  about  him." 

"It  shows  what  a  superior  being  he  considers 
himself  that  he  has  allowed  you  to,"  retorted 
Regina,  with  curling  lip;  "after  the  way  he 
behaved  at  the  island  — " 

"I  never  said  he  behaved,"  interrupted 
Violet  mildly. 

225 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Well,  he  kept  on  asking  you  to  go,  every 
time  they  sailed,  and  gave  you  every  reason  to 
think  he  was  friendly." 

"That's  summer  friendship,"  returned  Vio- 
let, but  her  cheeks  took  a  deeper  rose.  The 
shoe  pinched. 

"Well,  it's  settled,"  said  Roxana.  "Rex  pro- 
ceeds to  the  farm  and  studies  snow  shadows.  I 
stay  here,  and  sleep  as  late  as  I  wish  in  the 
morning.  Now,  be  calm,  Violet.  It  is  n't  as  if  I 
had  a  home  to  go  to.  It  would  n't  be  all  holiday 
to  visit,  and  be  on  my  best  behavior,  and  not  be 
sure  which  fork  to  use  nor  how  large  tips  I 
ought  to  give  the  servants,  nor — " 

"  Nonsense ! "  interrupted  Violet.  "  It  will  do 
you  all  the  good  in  the  world  to  sit  down  in  the 
lap  of  luxury  for  a  while;  to  live  in  large  rooms, 
and  drive  in  large  motors,  and  eat  large  dinners, 
and  lounge  on  large  divans,  and  sleep  in  large 
beds;  and  you're  going,  Rex,  you're  going." 

There  was  something  like  tears  in  the  stormy 
blue  eyes,  and  Regina  heard  with  relief  the 
postman's  whistle. 

"Go  down  and  see  if  we  have  anything, 
will  you,  Violet?  I'm  fixed  so  comfortably,  and 
it's  nothing  to  hop  off  the  table." 

Violet  obeyed,  and  the  other  bachelors  saw 
226 


Christmas 

her  press  a  very  small  handkerchief  to  her  eyes 
as  she  went. 

"You  'd  better  go,  Rox,"  said  Regina  in  a  low 
tone.  "I  know  just  how  she  feels." 

"If  it  weren't  for  Christmas  day  I  would; 
but  I  am  sure  Violet  won't  accept  a  pupil's 
hospitality  for  more  than  an  hour,  just  so  she 
can  tell  us  she  went;  and  the  baby  shan't  spend 
Christmas  eve  and  Christmas  night  alone. 
Even  if  she  won't  speak  to  me,  I  shall  stay.  It's 
the  lesser  of  two  evils.  Honestly,  I  would  enjoy 
a  lazy  time  at  home  here  with  no  papers  to 
correct.  The  trouble  is  to  get  her  to  believe  it." 

Here  Violet  returned;  her  face  and  bearing  so 
laden  with  dignity  that  Roxana  coughed  lest 
she  laugh.  The  baby  bachelor  handed  a  post- 
card to  Regina,  then  took  a  very  straight- 
backed  chair.  To  sit  on  either  of  her  customary 
thrones,  the  table  or  the  floor,  would  be  too 
much  concession  to  her  mutinous  companions. 
She  opened  the  letter  in  her  hand,  and  as  she 
read,  a  curious  change  altered  her  countenance. 
The  wintry  stiffness  of  her  expression  began  to 
thaw.  A  springtime  warmth  appeared  in  her 
eyes,  and,  spreading  to  her  lips,  relaxed  their 
corners.  At  last  she  looked  up.  The  sparkle  of 
summer  seas  shone  in  her  glance. 
227 


The  Inner  Flame 

"You  can  go,  girls,"  she  said;  "it  is  all  right. 
Mrs.  Fabian  has  asked  me  to  dinner  on  Christ- 
mas, with  a  dance  afterward  and  to  spend  the 
night.  Now,  then!"  She  challenged  Roxana 
triumphantly. 

"How  about  Christmas  eve?"  inquired  the 
latter  inflexibly. 

"You  tiresome  old  dear,  the  Settlement  has  a 
tree  and  I  '11  attend  it,  and  spend  the  night  with 
one  of  my  class  who  is  interested  there." 

"Then  I'll  go,"  agreed  Roxana  mildly. 
"  Fled  is  the  rosy  dream  of  sleeping  till  noon  and 
watching  you  skate  in  the  afternoons ;  and  I  will 
ask  Mrs.  McCabe  across  the  hall  to  keep  an  eye 
on  you." 

The  invitation  came  as  a  welcome  event  to 
Philip  Sidney  as  well.  Aunt  Isabel  had  been 
uniformly  kind  and  motherly  to  him.  The 
thought  of  a  solitary  Christmas,  or  one  spent  in 
a  glittering  restaurant,  made  him  wince  even 
with  all  the  allurements  of  his  easel  and  his 
books ;  so  at  last  Mrs.  Fabian  received  a  grateful 
reply  to  a  dinner  invitation. 

The  roses  that  came  with  his  card  on  Christ- 
mas morning  pleased  her  also,  more  than  her 
extravagant  gifts.  While  Phil  was  dressing  he 
thought  again  of  Kathleen.  He  had  never  seen 

228 


Christmas 

her  since  the  Sunday  afternoon  visit.  He  felt 
he  could  put  up  with  Edgar's  airs  and  graces 
through  a  dinner  for  the  sake  of  seeing  Kathleen 
again. 

"I  wonder  if  she'll  smoke  a  cigarette  to- 
night," he  thought,  while  he  adjusted  the  dress 
tie  he  had  bought  for  the  occasion :  adjusted  it 
very  carefully,  for  the  tie  was  a  unique  posses- 
sion. If  he  made  a  botch  of  it  he  could  not  go 
to  the  dinner.  The  girl  never  came  to  his  mind 
except  when  her  mother  spoke  of  her;  but  now 
that  he  was  to  be  her  guest  he  recalled  agree- 
ably how  womanly  and  sweet  had  been  her 
manner  to  Eliza  on  that  autumn  day  before  the 
stable  had  turned  into  a  studio. 

It  was  Kathleen  who  suggested  sending  the 
car  for  Violet.  It  was  not  the  traditional  Christ- 
mas of  dry  sparkling  snow  under  a  radiant 
moon,  but  a  day  of  slush  and  clouds,  and  Kath- 
leen was  not  of  those  owners  of  motors  who 
believe  that  every  one  else  has  one,  too.  Her 
acquaintance  with  Violet  was  slight,  but  she 
knew  she  was  a  teacher  and  a  very  young  one. 
She  fancied  that  dollars  were  precious  with  her 
as  yet. 

So  Violet  rolled  up  to  the  brown-stone  house 
on  Christmas  evening  in  state,  arrayed  in  her 

229 


The  Inner  Flame 

best  and  full  of  anticipation.  Mrs.  Wright's 
gift  to  her  had  been  a  small  gold  pendant  hold- 
ing a  turquoise  matrix,  and  this  she  wore  on  a 
slender  chain  around  her  throat,  where  it  shone 
between  the  deep  blue  of  her  eyes  and  the  pale 
blue  of  her  gown. 

Kathleen's  greeting  to  her  had  a  ring  of 
friendliness  through  its  gentle  formality.  Vio- 
let's involuntary  thought  was  that  she  might 
have  been  less  formal,  for,  although  there  was 
nothing  chilling  in  her  manner,  it  seemed  to 
suggest  the  difference  between  the  bachelor 
maid  doing  light  housekeeping  in  a  hemmed-in 
apartment  and  the  heiress  of  this  stately 
mansion. 

Mrs.  Fabian  was  kindly  patronizing,  and 
held  Violet  at  her  side  that  she  might  meet  the 
other  dinner  guests. 

Edgar  Fabian  was  one  of  the  last  to  enter  the 
drawing-room.  Violet  noted  that  he  was  not 
alone,  but  although  his  companion  dwarfed  him 
she  saw  no  one  but  the  well-set-up,  exquisite 
youth  with  the  shining  hair  who  had  been  the 
companion  of  her  moonlight  sails.  Her  heart 
quickened  and  her  color  deepened. 

"I'm  behaving  exactly  like  Rex,"  she 
thought  impatiently.  Really  there  had  been 

230 


Christmas 

no  reason  why  Edgar  Fabian  should  take  pains 
to  find  her  in  the  city  or  show  her  any  courtesy, 
after  the  return  from  the  island,  but  in  her  heart 
of  hearts  she  had  expected  he  would;  and  it 
showed  no  proper  pride  in  this  same  heart  to 
give  an  undignified  bound  at  the  present  junc- 
ture. What  was  the  idiotic  thing  bounding  for 
anyway  ? 

This  query  she  put  to  it  as  Edgar  approached 
his  mother;  and  now  Violet  saw  that  his  com- 
panion was  a  tall  man  whose  evening  clothes 
could  not  lessen  the  breadth  of  his  shoulders, 
and  whose  poetic  face  was  lighted  with  alert, 
observant  eyes. 

Mrs.  Fabian  greeted  the  stranger  warmly, 
and  presented  him  to  Violet  as  her  nephew,  Mr. 
Sidney;  while  Edgar's  cool  eyes  swept  the  girl's 
face  for  a  brief  moment  without  recognition. 

"You  remember  Miss  Manning,  Edgar," 
said  his  mother;  and  then  the  sudden  gleeful 
smile  relieved  the  youth's  face  of  its  supercil- 
iousness. 

"What  a  difference  feathers  make  to  the  bird, 
Miss  Manning!"  he  ejaculated.  "Upon  my 
word,  I  think  I  must  have  believed  you  al- 
ways wore  a  jolly  little  red  sweater  and  hat. 
Were  n't  those  corking  sails  we  had  ?  Awfully 

231 


The  Inner  Flame 

glad  to  see  you  again."  And  he  bore  Phil  off 
to  meet  his  friends. 

"I  think,  Miss  Manning,"  said  Mrs.  Fabian 
impressively,  "that  in  meeting  my  nephew  you 
have  seen  a  future  celebrity.  He  is  wonderfully 
talented."  : 

"How  pleasant,"  murmured  Violet,  the  idiot 
heart  having  given  one  record-breaking  bound 
and  then  retired  into  its  usual  self-erTacement. 

"Yes,  he  is  a  painter.  Only  a  student  as  yet, 
of  course.  I  think  he  has  the  sort  of  originality 
that  longs  to  spread  its  wings  and  fly;  but  he 
holds  himself  down  to  foundation  work  in  the 
most  level-headed  way." 

Violet's  eyes  followed  the  easy  movements  of 
the  athletic  figure. 

"Studying  art,  did  you  say?" 

"Yes." 

"I  did  n't  quite  get  his  name?" 

"Sidney.  Philip  Sidney." 

Stars  began  to  twinkle  in  Violet's  eyes  at  her 
sudden  enlightenment.  What  would  Rex  say? 

Kathleen  Fabian's  observing  eyes  found  time 
to  follow  Phil,  too.  He  wore  his  dress  clothes 
more  like  one  accustomed  to  inhabit  palaces 
than  stables.  She  saw  girlish  eyes  brighten 
as  Edgar  personally  conducted  the  Westerner 

232 


Christmas 

about  the  room.  When  she  planned  to  sit  next 
him  at  dinner,  it  had  been  with  a  thought  of 
protection;  as  Edgar  had  been  lavish  of  prophe- 
cies of  the  probable  gaucherie  of  the  cowboy. 
She  also  had  believed  it  quite  likely  that  the 
mining  engineer  did  not  possess  a  dress  suit; 
and  Edgar  had  drawn  cheerful  pictures  of  the 
way  his  arms  and  legs  would  probably  protrude 
from  any  which  he  might  rent;  but  it  was  quite 
evident  now  that  Phil  had  a  good  tailor  and  had 
not  spent  all  his  evenings  in  a  mountain  cabin. 

Kathleen  had  suggested  to  her  brother  that 
he  be  seated  beside  Violet  Manning,  as  there 
would  be  no  other  man  present  whom  she  had 
ever  seen,  but  Edgar  vetoed  that  plan. 

"  Let  the  two  derelicts  go  in  together,"  he  had 
said.  "  I  never  did  see  any  sense  in  this  business 
of  social  philanthropy.  Let  the  lonely  people 
take  care  of  each  other.  They  will  if  you  only 
have  the  cleverness  to  bring  them  together. 
Then  you're  spared  all  the  boredom  yourself, 
and  kill  two  birds  with  one  stone." 

"My  dear,"  his  mother  had  said,  "Miss  Man- 
ning is  an  orphan,  alone  in  the  city,  and  you 
were  quite  friendly  with  her  at  the  island  — " 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  the 
island  all  the  evening.  There  are  some  widows  I 
233 


The  Inner  Flame 

would  consider;  but  when  it  comes  to  orphans 
—  orphan  teachers  —  count  me  out." 

He  smiled  the  gleeful  smile,  and  Kathleen 
sighed,  and  allotted  him  to  the  maiden  of  his 
choice;  one  who  knew  and  hated  the  enthralling 
Mrs.  Larrabee,  and  who,  he  averred,  had  enough 
"pep"  not  to  bore  him. 

Violet  had  somehow  expected  to  be  placed 
with  Edgar  at  dinner,  and  argue  with  herself 
as  she  would,  the  surprise  of  finding  herself  with 
a  stranger  instead  gave  her  the  sensation  of  a 
slight;  but  she  was  cheery  and  natural,  and  her 
escort,  a  youth  with  long  lashes  and  a  sallow 
complexion,  found  the  sea-blue  eyes  intelligent 
and  sympathetic  repositories  for  his  mournful 
rhapsodies  upon  Kathleen  Fabian's  charms. 

She  was  sitting  across  the  table  from  them 
beside  Philip  Sidney.  Aqua-marines  glistened 
water-blue  about  her  bare  throat,  and  filmy 
lace  clung  to  her  satin  shoulders.  Her  simple 
coiffure  was  in  contrast  to  the  puffs  and  curls 
that  danced  airily  on  the  other  girlish  heads. 
Kathleen's  was  straight  hair,  but  fine,  thick, 
and  lustrous.  The  simplicity  of  her  aspect  gave 
one  to  know  that  with  her  "the  colors  seen  by 
candlelight"  would  look  the  same  by  day. 

"It  is  n't  every  one  who  understands  Miss 

234 


Christmas 

Fabian,"  the  long  lashes  announced  to  Violet, 
with  the  implication  that  he  was  in  the  inner 
circle.  "She's  what  I  call  a  subtle  girl  —  a 
mysterious  girl.  Those  jewels  suit  her.  That 
liquid,  elusive  play  of  light,  as  the  moon- 
light sparkles  on  the  water,  is  like  her  moods, 
gentle,  and  —  and  remote.  I  often  think  Miss 
Fabian  lives  in  a  world  of  her  own.  One  can't 
always  be  sure  that  she  hears  what  one  is  say- 

ing." 

"I  know  her  very  little,"  returned  Violet, 
"but  she  does  seem  a  very  thoughtful  girl." 

"Who  is  that  chap  with  her?  —  the  big 
fellow?" 

"That  is  her  cousin,  Mr.  Sidney." 

"Her  cousin?  I  never  saw  him  before." 

"I  fancy  he's  not  a  New  Yorker,"  said 
Violet.  "He  is  here  studying  art." 

"H'm," ejaculated  Long-Lashes.  "He  doesn't 
look  the  part.  He  does  n't  wear  artistic  hair." 

"No,"  agreed  Violet.  "There  is  no  studied 
disorder  in  his  appearance.  Miss  Fabian  seems 
to  hear  everything  he  says,"  she  added  de- 
murely; "and  why,  if  he  is  her  cousin,  does  she 
call  him  Mr.  Sidney?" 

Long-Lashes,  who  had  looked  cheered  at  the 
information  of  relationship,  gloomed  again. 
235 


The  Inner  Flame 

"I'm  sure  I  have  it  right,"  went  on  Violet. 
"Mrs.  Fabian  told  me  he  was  her  nephew." 

"Oh,"  returned  her  companion,  "but  Mrs. 
Fabian  is  Kathleen's  step-mother."  He  looked 
across  at  the  pair  anxiously.  "  She  has  adopted 
him,  though,  that's  evident.  Her  wits  have  n't 
gone  wool-gathering  since  we  sat  down." 

When  the  young  people  returned  to  the 
drawing-room  they  found  a  charming  trans- 
formation had  taken  place.  The  spacious  floor 
was  bare,  garlands  of  evergreen,  holly,  and 
mistletoe  were  wreathed  in  all  possible  posi- 
tions, and  a  majestic  Christmas  tree  sparkling 
with  the  tiny  electric  bulbs  of  these  sophisti- 
cated days  stood  in  a  recess.  Its  boughs  were 
gay  with  favors  for  a  german. 

An  orchestra,  concealed  behind  palms  in  the 
hall,  played  a  Christmas  carol  as  the  couples 
entered. 

"There  are  Christmas  fairies  even  in 
Gotham,"  said  Phil  to  Kathleen.  "Ah,"  he 
thought,  "poverty  may  be  no  disgrace,  but 
what  a  convenience  is  money!"  "Before  we  go 
any  further,"  he  added  aloud,  "  I  want  to  thank 
you,  Miss  Fabian,  for  the  honor  you  paid  the 
stranger  in  a  strange  land  by  allowing  me  to 
take  you  out  to  dinner.  I  want  you  to  know 

236 


Christmas 

that  I  appreciate  it  in  a  gathering  of  your  own 
friends." 

Kathleen's  calm  eyes  met  his.  She  was 
glad  he  could  not  know  that  she  had  expected 
to  champion  his  crude  appearance  in  a  gath- 
ering where  clothes  went  far  to  make  the 
man. 

"I  never  thought  of  doing  anything  else," 
she  returned;  then  added,  smiling,  "You  know 
I  owed  you  hospitality." 

"Brave  girl,"  returned  Phil,  "to  dare  to  refer 
to  that  ill-starred  day.  I  should  never  have  had 
the  courage." 

"Do  you  ever  hear  from  Eliza?"  asked 
Kathleen. 

"I  received  one  letter  after  her  arrival.  It 
was  mostly  about  her  cat,  Pluto.  She  said  he 
acted  like  an  imp  of  darkness." 

"Why  wouldn't  he  —  saddled  with  that 
name?"  returned  Kathleen. 

Phil  watched  the  aqua-marines  sparkle  and 
dissolve  on  the  whiteness  of  her  neck. 

"Your  mother  did  to  my  stable  what  the 
brownies  have  done  here  while  we  were  dining. 
Did  she  tell  you?" 

"She  told  me  she  bought  you  a  few  things." 

"That  is  a  modest  way  to  put  it.  Will  you 
237 


The  Inner  Flame 

come  to  tea  with  her  some  day  this  week  and 
see  for  yourself?" 

"I  shall  be  glad  to.  I've  not  been  able  to 
remember  you  as  being  very  comfortable." 

The  carol  ceased.  The  odor  of  evergreen  was 
fresh  as  the  forest  itself.  The  orchestra  began 
a  waltz. 

"I  wonder  if  he  can  dance,"  thought  Kath- 
leen, in  her  ignorance  of  the  West.  The  evening 
clothes  were  promising  but  she  had  her  doubts 
of  Terpsichore  west  of  the  Rockies.  She  little 
knew  that  in  dress  clothes  or  sweater  the  cow- 
boy leads  the  world  in  dancing. 

The  music  was  irresistible  and  in  a  moment 
she  was  floating  away  in  the  waltz. 

"Dear  me!"  she  thought  with  a  mixture  of 
consternation  and  satisfaction.  "  I  Ve  taken  the 
best  of  everything ! " 

Edgar  cast  a  glance  after  them.  "A  duck 
to  the  water,"  he  thought.  A  touch  of  nature 
makes  the  whole  world  kin;  and  when  Phil 
arrived  to-night,  that  unique  dress  tie  of  his  had 
suffered  damage  from  his  overcoat.  Edgar  with 
lofty  hospitality  had  supplied  the  lack.  It  had 
given  him  a  foretaste  of  self-satisfaction  as 
patron  of  the  arts,  and  he  now  felt  quite  bene- 
volently glad  to  find  that  Phil  was  not  going 

238 


Christmas 

to  entangle  Kathleen's  feet,  as  he  sailed  off 
with  his  own  partner,  humming  the  waltz  in 
her  appreciative  ear. 

Long-Lashes  danced  as  he  talked,  with  poetic 
meditation.  Violet  had  no  objection  to  him,  but 
she  was  conscious  of  Edgar's  every  movement. 
If  he  did  not  ask  her  for  the  next  dance  she 
would  not  give  him  any,  even  if  she  had  to 
sprain  her  ankle. 

However,  the  catastrophe  was  averted,  be- 
cause he  did  ask  her  for  the  second,  and,  joy  of 
joys,  she  could  not  give  it  to  him;  for  as  she 
and  Long-Lashes  crept  near  Kathleen  and  Phil 
during  the  waltz,  Phil,  prompted  by  his  partner, 
raised  his  eyebrows  in  a  request. 

"The  next,  Miss  Manning?" 

She  nodded  assent;  and  so  it  was  that  Edgar 
took  the  third;  and  as  soon  as  he  joined  her 
asked  her  opinion  of  Phil's  dancing. 

"Of  course  you're  authority,"  he  added 
tactfully,  as  they  started. 

"Oh,  I  quite  forgot  shop  while  I  was  with 
him,"  said  Violet  coolly;  "beside,  I  don't  teach 
ballroom  dancing." 

Edgar  suspected  that  he  had,  in  his  own  lan- 
guage, put  his  foot  in  it;  so  he  used  his  universal 
panacea  and  sang  the  waltz  in  his  partner's  ear. 

239 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Pretty,  is  n't  it?  Say,  you  can  dance,  Miss 
Manning,  if  you  don't  know  how  to  teach  it. 
Watch  me  favor  you  in  the  german." 

"Mr.  Sidney  is  a  perfect  dancer,"  she  said. 

"He  looks  it.  I'm  mighty  glad  he  does  n't 
fall  all  over  himself.  He's  a  trifle  too  big  to 
make  that  safe;  and  being  a  wild  Westerner  I 
did  n't  know  just  what  he  would  do.  Do  you 
ever  do  a  jig  nowadays?" 

"Occasionally  —  in  the  way  of  business." 

"  Say,"  exclaimed  Edgar  with  enthusiasm,  as 
he  led  her  safely  among  the  thickening  couples, 
"would  you  do  one  to-night  if  I  clear  the 
floor?" 

"Certainly  not,"  returned  Violet,  laughing. 

"But  you  did  at  the  island." 

"I  only  jig  on  a  vessel's  deck,"  said  the  girl. 

"And  I  have  to  wait  till  next  summer?" 

"Poor,  poor  fellow!"  Violet's  eyes  looked  up 
into  his  pathetically.  He  had  forgotten  what 
very  nice  eyes  they  were,  and  what  jolly  little 
stars  danced  in  their  depths. 

"  I  'd  like  to  clog,  and  I  believe  I  'd  be  a  good 
one.  Do  you  teach  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  I'll  enter  the  class!"  declared  Edgar 
with  enthusiasm. 

240 


Christmas 

"You're  just  a  tiny  bit  over-age,"  said 
Violet.  "Fifteen's  the  limit." 

"Then  I'll  come  to  your  home,  that's  what 
I'll  do.  I'll  take  private  lessons." 

"Impossible.  There's  no  place  to  clog  there 
except  on  the  table." 

"  But  that 's  what  I  should  prefer  to  any  other 
place." 

"I'll  teach  you  next  summer,"  said  Violet, 
"and  take  my  pay  in  song." 

"That's  proverbially  cheap,"  said  Edgar. 

"Yes,  ' a  song,'  perhaps,"  returned  Violet, 
"but  I  shall  exact  dozens." 

Edgar  tossed  his  head  with  the  gleeful  smile. 

"It's  a  bargain,"  he  declared. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

SPRING 

SPRING  came  all  too  soon  for  Philip  after  his 
gloriously  solitary  and  absorbed  winter. 

One  Saturday  morning,  even  from  his  sunless 
north  window,  it  proclaimed  itself  and  would 
not  be  denied.  The  tint  of  the  sky,  the  scanty 
glimpses  of  waving  green,  and  the  jubilant  song 
of  birds  in  the  park,  all  spoke  of  the  annual 
miracle. 

"Just  the  day  for  a  sketch,"  thought  Phil, 
and  buttoning  his  collar,  he  went  to  the  head  of 
the  stairs  and  called  Pat. 

"Here,"  responded  the  Irishman,  "and  sure 
I  wish  it  was  there,  thin." 

"Where's  that?" 

"Annywhere  in  the  country-side  where  I 
could  n't  see  a  pavement  the  day." 

"Just  what  I  was  thinking,  Pat.  I'm  going 
to  borrow  the  key  to  the  park  again.  I  wonder  if 
you'd  go  over  to  Streeter's  on  Fourth  Avenue 
for  me.  You  remember  the  place  you  bought 
the  framed  Madonna  for  your  sister.  I'd  like 

242 


Spring 

you  to  get  a  package  of  materials  they  were  to 
have  sent  me  yesterday.  I  don't  want  to  miss  a 
minute  of  this  weather  for  a  sketch,  and  I  can 
be  making  my  coffee  while  you're  gone." 

"Sure  I  will.  I've  got  to  go  that  way  for  a 
pair  o'  boots  annyway." 

"If  I  get  a  good  sketch,"  called  Phil  after 
him,  "you  may  look  at  it  for  nothing." 

Pat  was  privately  not  at  all  sure  that  it  would 
be  worth  looking  at,  even  if  the  artist  thought  it 
good.  He  had  seen  a  number  of  Phil's  efforts 
which  looked  like  nothing  to  him,  and  the  art- 
ist's explanation  that  they  were  merely  impres- 
sions did  not  bring  them  within  Pat's  compre- 
hension as  being  worth  the  paper  they  spoiled. 
Nevertheless  his  devotion  to  the  artist  was 
steadfast  and  he  hastened  on  his  errand. 

Phil  ate  his  breakfast,  and  primed  two  can- 
vases for  the  Monday  pose.  Then  his  Streeter 
package  having  arrived,  he  hurriedly  trans- 
ferred a  few  pieces  of  charcoal  and  some  pans 
of  water-color  to  his  sketch-box,  and  was  off 
down  the  stable  steps  into  the  mellow  light  of 
spring,  the  park  key  in  his  hand. 

"What  a  morning!"  he  thought,  as  he  passed 
through  the  gate  and  snapped  the  lock  after 
him.  At  different  times  when  he  had  visited 

243 


The  Inner  Flame 

this  enclosure  with  his  scratch-pad,  he  had 
made  mental  notes  of  advantageous  points  for 
sketching,  and  he  now  moved  straight  to  a 
chosen  spot. 

The  gravel  path  winding  between  the  patches 
of  fresh  spring  green  crunched  under  his  feet 
and  reminded  him  of  the  tar  and  pebble  roof  he 
had  put  on  a  barn  in  Montana.  How  different 
this  life!  How  glorious!  If  only  his  mother 
could  sit  beside  him  while  he  sketched  this 
morning. 

The  day  was  joyous  as  his  spirit,  and  the  park 
was  soon  alive  with  children  and  their  capped 
and  aproned  nurses,  truly  distinguished  in  their 
right  of  eminent  domain,  while  outside  the 
hedges  and  railings  sauntered  those  with  no 
proprietary  rights  in  Gramercy  Park.  A  child 
often  peeped  through  the  fence  at  coveted  dan- 
delions, like  a  little  peri  at  the  gates  of  paradise. 

Phil  worked  away,  paying  no  attention  to  the 
more  inquisitive  youngsters  who  dared  from  a 
well-bred  distance  to  stretch  and  strain  for  a 
look  at  what  was  being  done  in  art. 

He  was  hastily  washing  in  a  soft  rose  grey 
that  was  eventually  to  take  the  form  of  several 
charming  old  brick  houses.  They  had  dormer 
windows  above  and  fascinating  iron  grilled 

244 


Spring 

balconies  with  long  drawing-room  windows  and 
great  masses  of  spring  flowers  growing  in  front 
of  the  basements. 

Philip  was  working  with  an  intensity  of  in- 
terest and  absorption,  and  suddenly  he  threw  a 
quantity  of  color  and  water  from  his  brush  with 
a  quick  backward  motion  which  sent  a  flood 
over  one  of  the  youngsters  who  had  ventured 
quite  near.  A  shout  of  glee  went  up  from  the 
others  of  the  group  and  he  turned  quickly  to  see 
what  had  happened,  just  as  a  girl,  not  capped 
or  aproned,  seized  the  little  color-target,  and 
wiped  the  moisture  from  the  boy's  face  with  her 
handkerchief. 

"You,  Miss  Manning!"  cried  the  artist,  "and 
I  can't  spare  time  to  rise  and  fall  on  my  knees  in 
apology." 

"Ernest  is  the  one  who  should  apologize," 
said  Violet,  laughing,  "but  you  know  an  artist 
out  of  doors  is  common  property." 

"Of  course,"  returned  Phil,  washing  away 
industriously.  "Come  here,  little  chap.  I'm 
sorry  I  doused  you.  Come  and  see  what  I'm 
doing  —  no,  not  the  rest  of  you.  I  can't  have  a 
heavy  weight  on  my  sword  arm." 

Upon  this,  Ernest,  who  had  been  scarlet 
under  his  companions'  amusement,  gave  them 

245 


The  Inner  Flame 

a  glance  of  superiority  and  moved  to  Phil's 
side. 

"What's  that?"  he  asked,  pointing  to  the 
object  in  the  sketch  which  had  been  the  cause  of 
the  present  smooches  on  his  blouse. 

"What?"  asked  Phil  encouragingly. 

"That  big  tall  thing  that  looks  kind  of  rough, 
like  a  rock  or  something." 

"Why,  that's  the  Metropolitan  Tower.  See 
it  there  over  those  roofs?"  Phil  directed  the 
boy's  gaze  with  his  brush-handle. 

"Does  n't  look  much  like  it,  does  it?" 

"Oh,  you  wait  and  see." 

"Are  those  going  to  be  trees  there?" 

"Yes;  and  those  spots  are  going  to  be  filled 
with  red  and  pink  and  yellow  and  white.  You 
know  what  a  tulip  is  ?  Those  are  the  tulip  beds." 

Ernest  leaned  comfortably  against  the  green 
park  bench.  "What  are  you  going  to  make  the 
picture  for?" 

"Enough  questions,"  said  Violet  brightly. 
She  was  standing  away  a  little,  but  mounting 
guard  over  her  small  charge  and  taking  notes  of 
the  sketch  for  the  benefit  of  Rex.  Now  she 
stepped  forward  and  took  the  child's  hand  with 
intent  to  lead  him  away;  but  Phil  looked  smil- 
ing at  the  boy,  and  said :  — 

246 


Spring 

"  I  'm  going  to  try  to  paint  this  picture  so  that 
when  any  one  studies  it  he  will  get  its  message 
and  feel  as  I  do  to-day." 

The  child  looked  back  into  the  man's  eyes, 
and  discerned  a  fellow  child. 

"Is  it  your  birthday?"  he  asked  gravely. 

Phil  laughed  softly.  "  I  should  n't  wonder," 
he  answered.  "What  made  you  think  so?" 

"You  look  happy  —  and  you  said — "  the 
boy  did  n't  finish,  and  Phil  nodded. 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  chrysalis,  Ernest?  Well, 
I  think  I've  been  expanding  all  winter.  I  feel 
sort  of  wingy  this  morning.  This  is  a  good  sort 
of  day  for  a  chrysalis  to  burst,  don't  you  think 
so?  Perhaps  this  is  my  birthday  and  you 
guessed  it  before  I  did." 

"Come,  Ernest,  we  must  go,"  said  Violet, 
smiling.  "We're  a  load  on  the  butterfly's 
wings." 

"Do  you  live  here  in  the  park,  Miss  Man- 
ning?" 

"No.  I  spent  last  night  with  a  friend  here, 
and  one  of  the  maids  fell  ill,  so  Ernest  and  I 
thought  we  could  walk  about  a  bit  and  smell 
the  liiacs." 

"I  don't  want  to  go  away,"  said  Ernest.  "I 
like  to  see  him  paint." 

247 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Just  move  some  of  that  paraphernalia  from 
the  end  of  the  bench  and  sit  down,  can't  you, 
Miss  Manning?"  suggested  Phil.  "I  piled  it 
there  in  self-defence,  but  it's  for  show.  Keep 
away  from  my  arm,  old  man,  and  you  may 
watch  me  all  you  like." 

"Come  here,  Ernest,  you  can  see  just  as 
well,"  and  Violet,  seating  herself,  drew  the  child 
against  her  knee. 

The  scent  of  moist  lilacs  was  in  the  air. 

"There's  a  robin,"  cried  Ernest —  "oh,  two  I 
Look." 

"Quiet,  don't  frighten  them,"  said  Violet,  as 
the  bright-eyed  birds  ran  beneath  the  bushes. 

"Put  them  in,  won't  you,  Mr. "  began 

the  child  eagerly. 

"That  is  Mr.  Sidney,  Ernest,"  said  Violet. 
"It  is  time  you  were  introduced  and  this  is 
Ernest  Tremaine,  Mr.  Sidney." 

"I'll  make  you  a  sketch  of  the  robin  in  a 
minute." 

One  of  the  birds  ran  toward  the  seated  group, 
and  stood  a  moment,  proud  and  high-chested, 
his  sleek  head  gleaming  in  the  sun.  Phil 
laughed  to  himself  as  his  busy  hand  worked. 

"What  are  you  laughing  at?"  asked  the  little 
boy, 

248 


Spring 

"Cock  robin.  He  reminded  me  of  somebody 
I  know.  Don't  you  think  he  looks  very  pleased 
with  his  red  vest  and  his  smooth  feathers?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  child.  "Perhaps  it's  his 
birthday,  too."  He  laughed,  delighted  that  his 
big  friend  was  amused. 

"Perhaps;  and  see  there!  He  has  found  a 
birthday  present." 

The  robin  had  suddenly  pounced  upon  a  worm 
and  was  digging  it  from  its  earthy  stronghold. 

Violet  had  to  put  her  hand  over  the  child's 
mouth  to  still  his  mirth.  The  bird  was  sitting 
on  his  tail,  claws  dug  in  the  ground  as  he  leaned 
back,  dragging  at  his  prey. 

"How  good  of  the  robins  to  stray  away  from 
Central  Park,  and  bring  spring  to  all  these  little 
places,"  said  Violet.  "I  heard  one  last  night. 
Perhaps  this  is  the  very  fellow.  Their  notes 
always  make  me  think  of  links  in  a  chain,  link 
after  link,  alike,  yet  so  fresh.  Would  n't  it  be 
great,  Ernest,  if  this  pair  are  hunting  for  a  place 
to  build  here,  and  would  take  a  tree  that  you 
could  see  from  your  windows,  and  you  could 
watch  them  with  an  opera-glass?" 

"Do  you  think  they  will  ? "  The  child  looked 
up  into  the  golden-green  of  tender  new  leaves 
through  which  the  mellow  light  was  sifting. 
249 


The  Inner  Flame 

"We  must  ask  them  to  hurry  up,"  said  Vio- 
let, "before  the  foliage  grows  heavy  and  makes 
it  hard  to  watch  them." 

"What  news  from  the  island,  Miss  Man- 
ning?" asked  Phil. 

"Oh,  spring  is  peeping  in  on  them,  too,  once 
in  a  while.  Aunt  Amy  says  their  hill  will  soon 
be  white  with  strawberry  blossoms,  and  blue 
with  violets." 

"And  what  of  my  friend,  Eliza  Brewster?  I 
believe  you  told  me  you  have  never  seen  her." 

"Aunt  Amy  always  speaks  of  her  in  her 
letters.  She  has  been  a  great  comfort  to  them, 
so  helpful  and  kind." 

"Mrs.  Fabian  will  have  it  that  I  am  to  see 
this  wonderful  island." 

"You  should  go.  It  would  be  paradise  for  an 
artist." 

"And  how  about  yourself?"  asked  Phil. 
"You  also  have  an  aunt  and  a  home  on  that 
green  mound  I  hear  about." 

"Oh,  I'm  going  for  the  whole  summer," 
replied  Violet.  "  I  had  two  weeks  last  year,  and 
it  created  an  inordinate  appetite." 

"Then  you  knew  the  Fabians  there." 

"Yes,  a  little.  In  two  weeks  one  does  n't 
make  much  headway  with  a  girl  like  Kathleen." 

250 


Spring 

"Is  she  difficult  for  a  girl,  too?"  asked 
Phil. 

"Oh,  yes  —  at  least  for  a  new  girl.  She  re- 
minds me  of  a  series  of  locked  doors.  You  suc- 
ceed in  unlocking  one,  and  the  small  room 
within  merely  leads  to  another  door.  You  must 
strive  to  unlock  that,  and  you  succeed  only  to 
find  another  waiting.  Such  wholesome,  clean, 
airy  rooms,  but  small  —  always  small.  She  is 
fascinating  to  me,  perhaps  for  that  very  reason. 
Did  you  ever  notice  that  even  her  hair  is 
reserved?" 

Phil  smiled,  as  his  busy  hand  worked. 
"Christmas  night  is  the  only  time  I  ever  saw 
her  with  her  hat  off ,"  he  answered.  "  I  'm  afraid 
you're  too  subtle  for  me." 

"Oh,  you'll  see,"  said  Violet;  "an  artist 
could  n't  help  seeing  in  the  daytime.  What 
color  do  you  think  it  is?" 

"Dark  brown." 

"  I  knew  you  would  say  that.  Wait  till  you 
see  her  in  the  sunshine.  It's  almost  red;  and 
that's  just  like  her.  Even  her  hair  keeps  every- 
thing to  itself  as  long  as  it  can." 

Phil  laughed.  "Quite  different  from  brother, 
eh?" 

"You  mean  that  he  is  frank?"  asked  Violet, 
251 


The  Inner  Flame 

with  a  perceptible  indrawing  of  her  own 
frankness. 

"Well,  that's  a  mild  word  for  it,"  answered 
Phil.  "I  don't  know  Edgar's  family  crest,  but 
the  inscription  should  read,  freely  translated, 
*  I  give  myself  away.' ': 

The  speaker  laughed  at  his  own  folly,  and 
glanced  up  for  sympathy.  The  baby  bache- 
lor's full  lips  were  grave  and  her  eyes  a  little 
dark. 

"I  like  people  to  be  frank,"  she  said  briefly. 

Phil  drew  his  own  lips  together  in  a  noiseless 
whistle  and  his  eyes  twinkled  at  the  Metropol- 
itan Tower  in  the  sketch. 

"Keep  off  the  grass,"  he  mused.  "I  thought 
you  said  reserve  fascinated  you,"  he  remarked 
aloud,  mildly. 

"One  thing  I  don't  like  Mr.  Fabian  to  re- 
serve," said  Violet,  "and  that  is  his  voice." 

"Great,  is  n't  it?"  agreed  Phil.  "I  was  glad 
he  sang  for  us  Christmas  night." 

"Oh,  I  supposed  you  had  heard  him  many 
times.  If  he  were  my  cousin  I  would  give  him 
no  rest." 

"He's  not  mine,  you  see.  I'm  only  a  step- 
relation,  and  such  a  long  step!" 

Violet  bit  her  lip  and  looked  at  the  speaker 
252 


Spring 

reflectively.    She  felt  there  was:  no  rhyme  or 
reason  in  his  amused  expression. 

"Then,  that  is  why  you  have  n't  seen  Miss 
Kathleen's  hair  in  the  daylight,"  she  said. 
"Have  you  discovered  her  locked  doors?" 

"She  let  me  into  her  ballroom,  at  Christmas, 
and  I  think  I  must  have  been  so  pleased  with 
that  I  did  n't  try  to  get  any  further." 

"I  see,"  returned  Violet.  "Well,  if  you  go  to 
the  island  you'll  have  a  chance  to  explore. 
Of  course  your  experience  with  her  may  be 
different  from  mine.  Perhaps  an  artist  will 
have  the  open  sesame  to  her  doors.  I'm  not  a 
bit  intellectual.  I  have  to  dance  my  way  into 
people's  confidence,  or  I  don't  get  there." 

"  I  hear  you  teach  that  very  pretty  art." 

"She  teaches  me,"  put  in  Ernest,  who  was 
tired  of  being  left  out  of  the  conversation.  "  I 
can  dance  a  jig." 

"Bully  for  you,"  said  Phil.  "Go  ahead,  right 
here  on  the  path." 

"Oh,  I  can't  without  any  music." 

"There's  the  music."  Phil  pointed  with  his 
brush-handle  to  a  lofty  branch  where  the  robin 
was  pouring  forth  linked  sweetness,  long  drawn- 
put. 

f( The  pebbles  are  too  roily,"  said  the  child. 
253 


The  Inner  Flame 

"You  said  you'd  make  me  a  picture  of  the 
robin." 

"So  I  did." 

Phil  pulled  toward  him  another  block  of 
paper  and  swiftly  washed  in  the  green  of  the 
lilac  bush  and  its  purple  pendants.  Before  it, 
on  a  little  stretch  of  green  sward,  grew  the 
robin,  high-chested,  alert. 

"How  proud  he  looks!"  said  the  child, 
delighted. 

"Yes,  he  is  saying:  *I  own  the  earth,  and  the 
worms  therein.' "  The  artist  laughed  to  himself. 
" '  If  a  worm  shows  his  head,  I  gobble  him  up ! 
and  I  can  sing  as  beautifully  as  I  gobble.  The 
world  stops  to  watch  and  listen.  I  am  cock 
robin !  Look  at  me ! ' : 

Artist  and  child  laughed  together  as  Phil 
handed  over  the  wet  sketch  to  the  eager  little 
hands.  Violet's  eyes  were  glued  to  it.  She  was 
wondering  if  later  she  could  make  a  surrepti- 
tious purchase  of  it  for  Rex. 

"I  had  heard  of  you  before  Christmas,"  she 
said.  "One  of  my  housemates  goes  to  your  art 
school.  Regina  Morris." 

Phil  shook  his  head.  "  I  Ve  not  met  any  of 
the  girls.  Are  you  a  housekeeper?" 

"Three  of  us  live  together  in  a  tiny  apart- 
254 


Spring 

ment.  I  wish  you  might  come  to  see  us  some- 
time." 

Phil  looked  up  with  his  frank  smile.  "  I  '11  call 
on  you  at  the  island  if  you'll  let  me,  and  if  I 
come  —  that  last  is  such  a  big  If,  though  Mrs. 
Fabian  is  determined." 

"Oh,  then  you'll  go.  I've  seen  enough  of 
Mrs.  Fabian  to  know  that." 

"Then  it  must  be  but  for  a  week  or  two.  I 
must  n't  stay  where  I  can't  work." 

"You'll  stay,"  nodded  Violet.  "You'll  live 
under  a  rock  if  necessary  and  catch  fish  for 
food." 

"Are  you  so  enthusiastic?" 

"  Is  n't  everybody  ?" 

"Nobody,  that  I  have  heard.  Eliza  spoke  of 
it  like  facing  grim  death.  Edgar  says  it  gives 
him  the  'Willies,'  whatever  they  may  be.  Aunt 
Isabel  goes  because  her  husband  wants  to  sail." 

"Did  Mr.  Fabian  say  it  gave  him  the  f Wil- 
lies'?" asked  Violet,  her  cheeks  rose  and  her 
eyes  dark  again.  "Why  does  he  go,  then?" 

"I  did  n't  ask  him;  but  a  bare  hill  lying  in  a 
wet  fog  does  n't  sound  inviting  even  if  one  may 
occasionally  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  sea.  You 
know  the  sea  and  I  are  strangers." 

"Did  Kathleen  talk  to  you  about  it?"  asked 
255 


The  Inner  Flame 

Violet,  the  hurt  spot  in  her  pride  still  smarting, 
as  memory  showed  her  pictures  of  waves  spark- 
ling in  moonlight,  and  song  that  turned  the 
scene  into  enchantment. 

"No,  I  believe  we  never  mentioned  the  sum- 
mer. She  talked  to  me  of  college  and  I  talked  to 
her  of  my  one  dissipation  of  the  autumn,  an 
evening  over  there  at  the  Players'  Club," 
Phil  nodded  over  his  shoulder  toward  the  club 
windows,  — /'and  the  wit  and  wisdom  I  heard." 

"I  judge  you  have  friends  in  the  park,"  said 
Violet. 

"Yes,  I  have  a  work-room  over  here,"  re- 
plied Phil  vaguely.  His  wits  were  about  him 
when  he  contemplated  the  disconcerting  pos- 
sibility of  Ernest's  sturdy  little  legs  finding 
their  way  up  his  stable  stair. 

"I  want  to  show  this  to  mother,"  said  the 
child,  gloating  over  his  sketch.  Phil  had  used  no 
anaemic  colors  in  that.  The  lilacs  were  of  a  gen- 
erous purple,  the  robin's  vest  a  royal  red.  When 
he  had  thanked  the  artist  and  they  had  parted, 
Ernest  prattled  of  his  treasure  as  he  walked  on 
beside  Violet. 

"He's  a  proud  bird,"  he  said,  half-soliloquiz- 
ing after  his  kind.    "He  wants  the  world  to 
listen  when  he  sings ;  and  his  eyes  are  so  bright, 
256 


Spring 

when  he  sees  a  worm  coming  along  he  gobbles 
him  quick,  and  then  he  looks  prouder  than 


ever." 


Violet's  thoughts  were  busy,  and  somewhat 
gloomy.  Edgar  had  spoken  patronizingly  to  her 
of  the  big  Western  artist  who  had  fallen  into 
their  family  circle. 

Of  whom  was  Phil  thinking  that  gave  him  so 
much  amusement  while  he  sketched  the  robin  ? 

Violet  was  not  sure  whether  her  mental  dis- 
turbance was  more  resentment  toward  the 
artist,  or  hurt  that  Edgar  Fabian  should  de- 
clare that  he  had  been  bored  at  the  island. 


CHAPTER  XV 

JUNE 

DURING  the  long  winter  a  strong  bond  of  friend- 
ship grew  between  Mrs.  Wright  and  Eliza 
Brewster.  The  latter's  broken  heart  seemed  to 
heal  in  the  very  act  of  caring  for  the  exiled  lady, 
and  in  the  consolation  of  knowing  that  her  own 
familiarity  with  the  island,  and  with  all  domes- 
tic cares,  gave  daily  return  for  the  unspeakable 
benefit  of  her  home. 

Upon  Mr.  Wright  she  looked  from  the  first 
with  a  reflective  and  judicial  eye.  He  was  Mrs. 
Wright's  husband,  and  that  fact  made  Eliza 
rigidly  careful  to  do  her  duty  by  him;  but  men- 
tally she  classified  the  adopted  islander  as  a  lazy 
man  who  had  all  his  days  been  looking  for  a  soft 
spot  and  who  had  been  irresistibly  drawn  to  the 
freedom  and  irresponsibility  of  a  life  which  per- 
mitted him  to  wear  a  negligee  shirt  during  the 
semi-hibernation  of  the  winter,  and  made  no 
demands  upon  him  beyond  an  occasional  aris- 
ing, by  request,  from  the  lounge  to  shovel  snow- 
paths  and  bring  in  fuel,  and  at  evening  to  play 

258 


June 

checkers  with  Captain  James  until  an  early 
bedtime. 

He  liked  Eliza's  cooking  and  her  nimble, 
quiet  ways,  and  externally  they  were  at  peace; 
but  Captain  James's  shrewd  eyes  often  read 
Eliza's  suppressed  impatience.  One  spring 
morning,  when  he  met  her  in  the  island  road,  he 
attempted  a  mild  protest  in  favor  of  the  master 
of  the  house. 

"Mr.  Wright's  a  clever  feller,"  he  said 
argumentatively.  "What's  wrong  with  him, 
Eliza?" 

"What  have  I  said  about  him?"  she  snapped. 

"Don't  you  suppose  I  got  eyes?"  asked 
Captain  James. 

Eliza  was  startled.  She  must  put  even 
greater  guard  upon  herself. 

"Now,  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  talk  about  him, 
James.  I  s'pose  it's  all  right  for  a  great  hulk  of 
a  man  to  own  a  dainty  city  woman  and  take  her 
away  from  her  friends  and  mew  her  up  on  a 
snow-bank  to  suit  his  convenience." 

"What  you  goin'  back  on  the  island  for?" 
inquired  Captain  James. 

"  I  ain't  goin'  back  on  it.  I  'm  island  folks.  I 
find  there  is  something,  after  all,  in  this  talk 
about  native  air." 

259 


The  Inner  Flame 

"It's  treated  you  all  right,"  agreed  the  other, 
regarding  her  countenance  critically.  "You've 
dropped  off  five  years  this  winter.  Come  sum- 
mer you  '11  shed  ten  more,  like  enough,  and  look 
like  you  ought  to  look,  Eliza.  You  ain't  any  old 


woman." 


Eliza  ignored  the  blandishment. 

"I  can  see  in  the  glass  I  look  better,"  she 
returned  impersonally,  "  and  it  makes  me  mad 
to  think  it's  all  because  I  live  in  the  house  with 
a  sacrifice.  Supposin'  I'd  come  back  to  this 
island  alone." 

"Mrs.  Wright  don't  act  like  any  sacrifice," 
protested  Captain  James;  "she's  chipper  as  a 
canary  bird." 

"Of  course  she  is.  That's  the  kind  of  a  wife  a 
man  like  that's  sure  to  get.  It's  been  my  lot  in 
life,  James,  to  live  with  angels,"  added  Eliza 
fiercely.  "Can  you  tell  me  why  I  should  be  just 
as  cantankerous  as  ever?" 

Captain  James  laughed.  "Mebbe  there's  as 
much  truth  in  that  talk  about  original  sin  as 
there  is  about  native  air,"  he  returned.  "You 
always  was  a  limb,  Eliza." 

She  smiled  reluctantly.  "  I  warned  her  before 
I  came,"  she  returned,  grave  again.  "  I  told  her 
I  was  bad,  and  set" 

260 


June 

"But  you  could  n't  scare  her,  eh?" 
"Nobody  could  do  that.  She  ain't  afraid  of 
anything  above  ground.  'T  ain't  fear  makes  her 
yield  to  Lazy-Bones  there;  and  when  she  sets 
out  to  make  him  do  something  he  don't  want 
to,  she  gets  him  every  time."  Eliza's  eyes  wan- 
dered to  a  cottage  by  the  roadside.  "There's 
Betsy  Eaton  watchin'  us.  I  expect  she's  won- 
derin'  why  we're  standin'  in  the  wet  so  long. 
Well,  I  've  blown  off  steam  and  I  '11  run  home. 
I  s'pose  you  '11  be  comin'  up  to-night  to  move 
those  little  pieces  o'  wood  around." 

"  Sure  thing,  Eliza,"  returned  Captain  James 
with  a  grin.  "Lemme  teach  you  the  game  so 
you  can  play  it  with  him  times  when  I  don't 


come." 


In  the  speaker's  own  parlance  he  was  trying 
to  "get  a  rise"  out  of  his  old  friend;  and  he 
succeeded.  Eliza's  eyes  flashed  almost  with  the 
fire  of  youth. 

"  I  'd  throw  'em  at  him.  I  know  I  would  — 
every  checker  of  'em." 

"Well,  he'll  be  fishin'  again  soon,"  laughed 
Captain  James  soothingly,  "now  his  new  boat's 
about  done." 

"H'ml"  grunted  Eliza;  and  with  no  other 
form  of  farewell,  she  started  to  trudge  up  the 

261 


The  Inner  Flame 

hill  toward  home.  The  earth  was  moist  and 
yielding;  the  chill  spring  was  here,  and  nature 
was  drawing  her  green  paint-brush  over  the 
high  wave  of  the  bluff.  Little  star-flowers 
bloomed  under  her  energizing  kisses,  and 
shivered  bravely  when  the  east  wind  blew. 

This  morning  the  sun  fell  with  sufficient 
warmth  on  the  stone  step  for  Pluto  to  lie  there, 
and  blink  at  the  first  sparrow  he  had  seen.  On 
the  whole,  Eliza's  move  away  from  New  York 
had  his  entire  approval.  The  change  from  the 
restrictions  of  a  city  flat  to  this  place  was  in 
itself  a  delight,  and  far  from  agreeing  with 
Eliza's  estimation  of  the  master  of  the  house  he 
found  him  quite  the  most  sensible  human  being 
he  had  ever  encountered.  One  who  appreciated 
a  soft  lounge  when  he  saw  it,  and  who  always 
made  room  for  a  cat,  and  never  disturbed  his 
slumbers  with  precipitate  movement.  Eliza 
watched  their  growing  intimacy  with  grim 
amusement. 

"Birds  of  a  feather  flock  together,"  was 
frequently  her  mental  comment. 

As  the  spring  unfolded,  and  the  early  morn- 
ings were  less  chill,  Mr.  Wright  again  took  up 
his  suspended  practice  of  making  sunrise  visits 
to  his  pond.  At  first  Pluto  considered  this  a 

262 


June 

foolish  practice ;  but  at  last  he  learned  to  connect 
it  with  attractive  pieces  of  fish  which  came  his 
way,  and  again  he  paid  tribute  of  admiration  to 
the  hand  which  always  discriminated  so  nicely 
just  which  point  back  of  his  ears  should  be 
scratched  in  order  to  establish  the  most  friendly 
relations. 

Eliza's  threat  that  he  should  reside  in  the 
chicken-house  had  come  to  naught,  for  it  had 
required  but  a  few  days  for  Pluto  to  recover 
from  the  savagery  to  which  his  novel  contact 
with  Mother  Earth  at  first  reduced  him;  and  he 
again  became  a  domestic  animal  full  of  content 
in  the  equally  novel  petting  which  now  fell  to 
his  share. 

One  day  Eliza  with  amused  memory  of  her 
childish  terrors  pushed  open  the  door  of  the 
forlorn  chicken-house,  and  looked  in;  but  one 
look  was  enough.  She  closed  it  again  quickly  on 
the  dirt  and  cobwebs.  Its  small  windows  were 
opaque  with  the  dust  of  years.  It  was  almost 
picturesque  with  its  leaking  roof  which  had 
once  been  red,  huddling  close  to  earth  under 
the  protection  of  those  hardy  old  warriors,  the 
balm-of-Gilead  trees. 

'l  If  't  was  mine,"  mused  Eliza,  as  she 
withdrew  from  the  dirt  and  damp  of  the  close 

263 


The  Inner  Flame 

interior,  "I'd  clean  it  with  a  good  fire.  It's 
hopeless." 

A  sparrow  lit  on  the  despised  roof,  and 
poured  a  song  toward  the  sea. 

"That's  so,"  said  Eliza  looking  up  at  the  tiny 
creature  with  a  smile.  "It  is  spring.  It's  a 
wonder  to  be  in  a  place  where  there  ain't  one 
o'  your  English  cousins." 

She  turned  and  nearly  trod  on  Pluto.  His 
green  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  bird.  His  lithe 
body  crouched  in  the  fresh  grass  and  quivered 
along  its  length  in  the  intensity  of  his  upward 
gaze. 

"Pluto  Brewster!"  she  exclaimed  in  desper- 
ation. "  Supposin'  you  ever  should  catch  a  bird 
up  here!"  She  stooped  and  boxed  his  ears.  He 
laid  them  back  and,  blinking  the  eager  eyes, 
crouched  lower. 

Mrs.  Wright  on  her  doorstep  saw  Eliza  ap- 
proaching, the  cat  under  her  arm. 

"He  was  lookin'  at  a  sparrow,"  announced 
Eliza. 

Mrs.  Wright  laughed.  "  I  Ve  heard  that  a  cat 
may  look  even  at  a  king,"  she  said. 

"If  Pluto  should  kill  birds!"  exclaimed  his 
owner  desperately. 

"Would    you,    little    tiger f"    asked    Mrs. 


June 

Wright,  closing  her  hand  over  the  cat's  face  and 
giving  it  a  little  shake. 

Pluto  was  beginning  to  consider  that  women 
were  a  sad  mistake.  He  struggled  to  get  free 
and  Eliza  dropped  him. 

"How  the  spring  has  stolen  past  us,"  said 
Mrs.  Wright.  "Do  you  realize  Eliza  that  even 
June  is  moving  on  its  way  ?  JL-ook  over  there  at 
the  Fabian  cottage." 

"Why  that's  James  out  on  the  veranda." 

"Yes,  he  has  had  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Fabian. 
She  wants  him  to  open  the  house.  To-day  is 
Kathleen  Fabian's  Commencement." 

"That's  so,"  said  Eliza  coolly.  "You  showed 
me  the  invitation." 

"  It  was  rather  nice  of  her  to  remember  me, 
way  off  here,  and  little  as  I  know  them." 

"I  guess  Kathleen  would  be  an  agreeable 
enough  girl  if  she  was  let  alone,"  said  Eliza. 

She  had  for  some  time  now  given  up  anxiety 
lest  the  high  words  over  the  barrel  in  Phil's 
studio  bear  bad  fruit  for  him;  for  a  letter  had 
set  her  mind  at  rest  on  that  score,  and  she  felt 
instinctively  that  she  had  Kathleen  Fabian  to 
thank  for  that. 

"But  any  girl  would  be  slow  to  cut  off 
friendly  relations  with  a  feller  like  Mr.  Sid- 

265 


ney,"  she  considered,  prejudice  still  holding  her 
in  a  strong  grasp. 

"So  they're  comin',"  said  Eliza,  in  a  lifeless 
voice.  The  winter  had  been  very  happy.  She 
began  to  long  for  the  fall. 

"Yes,  very  soon." 

"Is  your  niece  comin'  with  'em?" 

"No;  she  will  keep  busy  until  July."  Mrs. 
Wright  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"Oh,  how  lovely  this  is,  Eliza,"  she  went  on. 
"This  morning  makes  me  think  of  Stopford 
Brooke's  lines,  — 

'A  little  sun,  a  little  rain, 
A  soft  wind  blowing  from  the  West  — 
And  woods  and  fields  are  sweet  again, 
And  the  warmth  within  the  mountain's  breast.' 

Our  mountain  —  what  a  height  we  should  see 
we  had  if  that  sea  could  roll  back;  we  can  feel 
the  warmth  in  its  breast  this  morning,  and  the 
lovely  miracles  it  is  putting  forth.  Why  don't 
you  look  happier,  Eliza?"  Mrs.  Wright  smiled 
as  she  asked  the  question.  Her  friend's  eyes 
were  gloomily  following  the  movements  of 
Captain  James  in  the  distance  as  he  beat  rugs 
on  the  grass  beside  the  boulder  cottage. 

"I  guess  you  know  why,"  rejoined  Eliza 
briefly. 

266 


June 

"The  idea  of  letting  anybody  rob  you  of 
your  happiness,"  said  Mrs.  Wright.  "I  shall 
have  to  put  Marcus  Aurelius  side  of  your  bed 
so  you  can  read  him  before  you  go  to  sleep. 
I  thought  you  were  more  of  a  philosopher, 
Eliza." 

"You  ain't  half  through  your  disappoint- 
ments in  me  yet,"  returned  Eliza  drily. 

"Ho!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wright,  resting  her 
hand  on  the  shoulder  of  her  companion  as  she 
stood  a  step  below  her.  "  I  have  n't  begun  on 
them  yet." 

"Just  s'posin',"  said  Eliza,  looking  about  at 
the  fair  prospect,  "that  Mrs.  Ballard  could  be 
with  us  to  see  the  summer  comin'.  How  com- 
fortable we'd  make  her!" 

"I  don't  believe  she'd  come,"  said  Mrs. 
Wright  gently,  "as  much  as  she  loves  us." 
•  "That's  what  he  said,"  returned  Eliza  mus- 
ingly. "He  said  we  had  n't  ought  to  believe  we 
could  make  her  happier  than  she  is." 

"He?  Who?" 

"Mr.  Sidney." 

"Good  for  the  boy,"  said  Mrs.  Wright,  who 
had  heard  so  much  and  often  about  Philip  that 
she  felt  as  if  she  had  met  him. 

"Why  can't  we  go  on  here  just  as  we  have," 
267 


The  Inner  Flame 

said  Eliza  regretfully.  "Why  must  folks 
come?" 

"Listen  to  the  grudging  one!"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Wright  lightly.  "And  what  a  different 
doctrine  Nature  is  preaching  us  this  morning. 
Look  where  you  will,  no  limitations  —  none. 
Illimitable  sky,  illimitable  sea.  That's  the  way 
it  should  be  in  our  hearts,  Eliza,  illimitable 
love." 

"I  dare  say,"  returned  the  other  with  a  world 
of  obstinacy  in  her  tone. 

"The  world  can't  be  full  of  Mrs.  Ballards, 
but  they're  all  our  brothers  and  sisters  just  the 
same.  Mr.  Brooke  goes  on  in  his  verse  to  say :  — 

'A  little  love,  a  little  trust, 
A  soft  impulse,  a  sudden  dream, 
And  life  as  dry  as  desert  dust 
Is  fresher  than  a  mountain  stream.' 

I  don't  like  that  hard  look  to  come  in  your  eyes, 
Eliza.  The  feeling  behind  it  turns  life  as  dry  as 
desert  dust  wherever  it  holds  sway." 

"I  told  you — "  began  Eliza  slowly. 

"I  know  all  about  that,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Wright,  "but  little  by  little  you'll  find  that  all 
hard  wilfulness  is  flat,  stale,  and  unprofitable. 
Now  you'd  better  spend  this  week  before  the 
Fabians  come  in  trying  that  recipe  every  time 

268 


June 

you  think  of  them.  'A  little  love,  a  little  trust, 
a  soft  impulse." 

"And  what  will  Mrs.  Fabian  be  doin'  all 
that  time?"  asked  Eliza  hardily.  "Do  you 
suppose  she  '11  have  any  soft  impulses  toward  me 
until  I  give  her  her  aunt's  things  ?  That  barrel 
upstairs  in  the  back  bedroom  has  got  her  grand- 
mother's china  and  silver  in  it." 

"What  do  you  want  of  it,  Eliza  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Wright. 

"To  keep  it  away  from  her,"  was  the  prompt 
reply;  and  the  speaker  saw  a  cloud  pass  over  the 
eyes  she  had  learned  to  love.  "Anyway,  Mrs. 
Wright,"  she  went  on  earnestly,  "she  left  'em 
all  to  me,  all  her  things,  Mrs.  Ballard  did." 

"I  see,"  said  Mrs.  Wright  thoughtfully. 
"Doubtless  her  grateful  heart  longed  to  leave 
you  her  money,  and  deciding  to  do  otherwise 
she  felt  she  wished  you  to  have  something 
equivalent." 

While  they  talked,  Captain  James  had 
started  across  the  field  toward  them,  and  now 
he  drew  near,  walking  beneath  the  bold  and 
intricate  curves  made  by  wheeling  swallows,  the 
deep  blue  of  their  backs  flashing  iridescent  in 
the  sunlight. 

"Say,"  he  called,  "these  fellers  have  set  up 
269 


The  Inner  Flame 

housekeeping  over  there  in  the  Fabian  porch. 
Snug  as  bugs  in  rugs  they  are.  Darned  if  I 
know  what  to  do." 

"Who? — the  swallows?"  asked  Mrs.  Wright. 

"Yes."  Captain  James  seated  himself  on  a 
rustic  bench  in  the  sun.  "It's  the  new  wind- 
break they  had  put  up  last  summer  did  the  mis- 
chief. Always  been  too  blowy  other  springs  for 
'em  to  try  it." 

"You  dislike  to  disturb  them?  Is  that  the 
trouble?"  asked  Mrs.  Wright. 

"  I  dislike  to  get  my  head  took  off,"  returned 
Captain  James.  "Mrs.  Fabian  '11  have  the  law 
on  me  if  I  don't  knock  the  nest  down  and  clean 
up,  and  Kathleen  '11  read  me  the  riot  act  if  I 
do." 

The  speaker  pushed  his  hat  to  one  side  and 
scratched  his  head. 

Eliza  regarded  him  unsmiling. 

"Do  you  always  take  care  of  their  cottage?" 
she  asked. 

"Ever  since  they've  had  one,'r  he  answered. 
"Used  to  take  Kathleen  and  Edgar  out  to  my 
pound  when  they  wa'n't  knee  high  to  a  grass- 
hopper." 

"And  now  she  has  graduated  from  college. 
Think  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Wright. 

270 


June 

"Wa'n't  I  invited?"  asked  Captain  James 
proudly.  "I  guess  I  was.  All  engraved  up 
pretty,  and  Kathleen's  card  inside.  When  they 
fledged  Edgar  and  shoved  him  out  o'  the  nest  he 
did  n't  remember  me;  but  little  sober-sides 
there,  she  wa'n't  goin'  to  forget  an  old  friend. 
Edgar's  boots  nor  his  hat  don't  exactly  fit  him, 
late  years,"  went  on  Captain  James  good- 
humoredly,  "but  Kathleen  always  was  a  brick 
and  she  ain't  got  over  it.  I  guess  I'll  let  the 
swallers  alone  till  she's  had  her  say  anyway." 

"Going  to  be  over  there  this  afternoon,  Cap- 
tain James?"  asked  Mrs.  Wright. 

"Yes.  I've  got  Betsy  Eaton  washin'  the 
dishes  and  cleanin'  now,  and  I  '11  be  back  again 
on  the  rugs  later." 

"Let  us  go  over,  Eliza,"  said  Mrs.  Wright. 
"  I  want  you  to  see  what  a  beautiful  cottage  it 
is." 

Eliza  looked  at  her  with  steady  significance. 
"I'm  goin'  to  be  too  busy,"  she  said  slowly. 

Captain  James  sighed  and  rose.  "Handsome 
day,"  he  remarked,  as  he  trudged  off  to  dinner. 

"To-morrow,  then?"  asked  Mrs.  Wright. 

"No,"  responded  Eliza  firmly,  freed  of  Cap- 
tain James's  presence,  "nor  the  day  after  that. 
I  ain't  double-faced,  Mrs.  Wright.  I  can't  go  in 

271 


The  Inner  Flame 

when  they  ain't  there,  if  I  would  n't  when  they 
are  there." 

Mrs.  Wright  laughed  softly.  "My  square- 
toed  Eliza,"  she  said,  turning  into  the  house. 
"Oh,  I  forgot  to  say  there's  a  letter  for  you 
here.  Mr.  Wright  must  have  left  it  on  the 
table." 

Eliza  had  stooped  over  the  row  of  sweet  peas 
coming  up  thriftily  about  the  house,  and  she 
rose  slowly  and  followed  her  friend  indoors, 
but  when  she  saw  the  small  stubbed  writing 
on  the  envelope  her  eyes  brightened.  Twice 
before  during  the  winter  had  it  come  to  cheer 
her. 

"Mr.  Sidney!"  she  said,  and  sat  down  to 
enjoy  her  letter  to  the  full. 

"DEAR  ELIZA,"  it  began. 

"We  had  a  hot  day  yesterday.  Pat's  tongue 
hung  out  and  he  assured  me  that  the  only  thing 
that  would  do  him  any  good  was  to  take  off  his 
flesh  and  sit  in  his  bones.  They  tell  me  the 
summer  is  here  to  stay,  and  I  am  going  to  make 
an  aisle  through  my  opposite  neighbor,  the 
storeroom,  and  get  at  the  window  in  there  so  as 
to  get  a  draught  through.  The  sun  bakes  the 
stable  roof,  but  I  would  n't  mind  it  if  the  per- 
spiration did  n't  run  into  my  eyes.  This  state 

272 


June 

of  things  makes  me  an  easy  prey  to  Aunt  Isa- 
bel's kind  insistence  that  I  shall  spend  a  week 
with  her.  She  says  two;  but  that  will  depend  on 
how  much  fog  there  is  and  whether  I  have  to 
waste  time. 

"  I  can't  compliment  you  on  being  a  complete 
letter-writer,  but  I  judge  you  have  had  a  good 
winter  and  kept  from  freezing.  You  say  the 
islands  have  looked  like  frosted  wedding  cakes. 
The  first  part  sounds  good  to  me.  I  hope  you  Ve 
saved  some  over.  That's  the  sort  of  wedding 
cake  I  'd  like  to  dream  on  just  now.  You  may 
believe  my  heart  often  goes  homing  to  the 
mountains.  What  would  I  give  for  one  night 
under  the  windy  trees.  The  very  stars  are  hot 
here  —  but  —  I  like  it! 

"I've  had  a  wonderful  winter.  I  can't  say 
I  'm  a  belle  at  the  Academy.  One  of  the  teach- 
ers turned  on  me  the  other  day  and  said  he 
would  thank  me  to  stop  trying  to  teach  him  how 
to  teach  me.  He  said  my  'stand-and-deliver' 
methods  might  be  de  rigueur  west  of  the  Rock- 
ies, but  something  less  aggressive  would  be 
more  becoming  a  student  here  who  knew  as 
little  as  I  did.  They  all  have  a  hunted  look  as 
they  come  near  me;  for  I  don't  care  a  straw  how 
much  they  snub  me  if  I  can  only  get  from  them 

273 


The  Inner  Flame 

what  I'm  after;  and  I  glow  with  the  conscious- 
ness that  I  have  accomplished  a  lot,  even  though 
my  strenuous  path  is  strewn  with  the  wounded 
and  I  have  some  bruises  myself. 

"Dear  Aunt  Mary!  I  send  her  a  wireless 
every  night.  I  wonder  if  she  gets  it ! 

"Aunt  Isabel  has  been  a  trump  to  me  the 
whole  winter,  patient  with  my  neglect,  and  let- 
ting me  go  my  own  gait;  but  she  brought  a 
thermometer  over  to  the  stable  in  my  absence 
one  day  and  sat  down  in  my  room  waiting  for  it 
to  go  up.  It  did  n't  lag,  and  I  found  her  sitting 
there  in  a  wilted  state,  and  she  declared  that 
she  should  stay  until  I  promised  to  go  with 
her  to  the  island  and  get  a  coat  of  tan.  So  I 
promised.  It  will  be  great  to  get  a  breath,  and 
great  to  see  you  again,  Eliza.  Kindly  arrange 
that  the  third  week  in  June  shall  be  free  from 
fog.  My  time  will  be  precious. 

"Give  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Wright  and 
tell  her  I  had  a  pleasant  chat  with  her  niece  one 
morning  in  the  park  while  I  was  sketching. 

"Tell  Pluto  to  be  ready  to  pose  with  you  if 
old  ocean  veils  himself. 

"With  my  best  to  you, 

"As  ever 

"PHILIP  SIDNEY." 
274 


June 

"Now,  then,  Eliza,"  said  Mrs.  Wright  when 
her  companion  had  read  this  epistle  aloud. 

"Now,  then,  what?"  returned  Eliza  happily. 

"He  '11  be  a  link.  He  '11  have  to  be.  You  can't 
be  crabbed  and  offish  and  spoil  his  one  vaca- 
tion." 

"Do  you  mean  Mrs.  Fabian?"  Eliza  gave 
her  rare  laugh  as  she  pushed  the  letter  back  into 
its  envelope.  "If  she  could  help  her  nephew 
from  runnin'  after  common  folks,  she  would; 
but  she  certainly  won't  run  after  him.  We 
shan't  clash  any." 

"I'm  glad  I'm  going  to  see  the  boy,"  said 
Mrs.  Wright.  Violet  had  written  of  him :  at  first 
with  girlish  enthusiasm,  but  after  the  park  in- 
terview more  grudgingly.  It  seemed  rather  silly 
in  a  grown  man  to  be  so  amused  by  the  airs  of  a 
robin !  For  some  unknown  reason  the  memory 
of  that  foolishness  had  rankled  for  days. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   PEACEMAKER 

KATHLEEN  FABIAN,  out  of  school  in  that  month 
of  June,  was  at  home  in  body,  but  with  her 
mind  still  clinging  about  the  scenes  of  her  col- 
lege life. 

"I  do  believe,  all  things  considered,"  said 
her  mother  when  they  were  sitting  alone  one 
morning  over  their  coffee,  "that  I  am  against 
college  for  girls!" 

Kathleen  looked  up  absent-mindedly  from 
the  letter  she  had  been  reading.  "What's  the 
matter?"  she  asked  vaguely. 

"You  have  scarcely  heard  a  word  I  have 
said  since  you  came  home,"  declared  Mrs. 
Fabian.  "Your  thoughts  are  a  thousand  miles 
away  all  the  time." 

"Not  a  thousand,"  protested  the  girl.  "Four 
years  is  a  long  time,  you  know.  To  break  up 
one's  home  —  to  break  all  those  ties  —  means 
so  much." 

"Exactly  what  I  say,"  retorted  Mrs.  Fabian. 
"I  should  like  to  know  when  you  will  begin 
276 


The  Peacemaker 

again  to  realize  that  this  is  home,  and  that  your 
father  and  mother  would  like  some  share  in 
your  thoughts." 

"Why,  I  must  be  horribly  selfish,"  returned 
the  girl. 

"There  it  is  again!"  exclaimed  her  mother, 
increasingly  nettled.  "If  it  takes  unselfishness 
to  show  some  interest  in  home  after  a  girl  leaves 
college,  I  say  she  had  better  not  go  there." 

"Very  well,"  returned  Kathleen,  smiling. 
"Don't  you  ever  send  another  daughter;  but 
I  'm  glad  you  made  the  mistake  with  me.  I  Ve 
been  so  happy,  mother." 

"Oh,  well,"  returned  Mrs.  Fabian,  somewhat 
mollified  by  the  wistfulness  of  the  girl's  look 
and  tone,  "  I  suppose  you  have,  and  perhaps  it 
is  all  for  the  best;  but  hereafter,  when  I  speak 
to  you,  I  intend  to  begin  'Kathleen  Fabian!' 
and  you  must  reply  'Present'  before  I  go  on." 

"Have  you  been  talking  to  me?"  asked 
Kathleen  naively. 

"Well,  rather.  I  have  been  telling  you  some- 
thing that  should  be  very  interesting,  consider- 
ing the  height  of  the  thermometer.  Father  says 
we  are  to  start  for  the  island  next  Wednesday; 
and  I  am  holding  in  my  hand  an  acceptance  from 
Philip  Sidney  to  my  invitation  to  go  with  us.'' 
277 


The  Inner  Flame 

"How  very  nice,"  said  Kathleen  courteously. 

Mrs.  Fabian,  always  on  the  sensitive  lookout 
where  her  young  relative  was  concerned,  thought 
she  detected  a  perfunctory  note. 

"You  knew  I  had  asked  him?" 

"Yes,  I  think  you  did  mention  it  before 
Commencement." 

"He  says,"  said  Mrs.  Fabian,  "that  you 
have  never  talked  to  him  about  the  island." 

"But  think,"  returned  Kathleen,  "how  sel- 
dom I  have  talked  with  him." 

"Yes,"  returned  her  mother  resignedly,  "  and 
how  full  your  head  is  of  other  matters.  You 
were  very  nice  to  Phil  on  Christmas  night,  here. 
I  was  n't  sure  but  that  you  would  invite  him 
yourself." 

"Oh,  why  should  I?" 

"No  reason,  if  you  don't  see  any.  Phil  was 
very  polite  to  you  at  your  graduation.  Those 
flowers  were  exquisite." 

"Yes."  The  girl  smiled.  "They  would  have 
worried  me,  but  that  I  know  flowers  are  cheaper 
in  June." 

"I  don't  think  that's  a  very  nice  thing  to 
say,"  observed  Mrs  Fabian. 

"I  meant  it  very  nicely,"  returned  Kathleen 
mildly. 

278 


The  Peacemaker 

"Well,  perhaps  it  is  n't  so  strange  that  you 
have  not  talked  the  island  to  him,  since  you 
have  been  engrossed  in  other  things ;  but  I  have 
had  all  the  trouble  in  the  world  to  induce  him 
to  go;  and  if  you  had  roused  his  enthusiasm  a 
little  it  would  have  been  easier." 

"Why  have  you  urged  him?"  asked  the  girl. 

Her  mother  regarded  her  for  a  pause,  in 
exasperated  silence.  "Are  you  aware,"  she 
returned  at  last,  "that  it  is  87  in  the  shade  this 
morning?  Are  you  aware  that  these  rooms, 
where  the  draught  constantly  changes  the  air, 
are  slightly  different  from  that  studio,  baking 
under  a  stable  roof  and  hemmed  in  by  high 
buildings?" 

"Of  course,  of  course!" 

"Are  you  aware,"  went  on  Mrs.  Fabian 
sonorously,  "that  one  who  has  always  previ- 
ously had  a  home  might  find  a  brief  change 
from  cheap  restaurants  invigorating  in  hot 
weather?" 

"  I  did  n't  know,"  said  Kathleen.  "  I  thought 
perhaps  he  was  too  busy  to  notice.  He"  —  she 
hesitated,  but  imperceptibly  to  Mrs.  Fabian,  — 
"he  has  not  called  here  since  I  returned." 

"That's  just  it,"  flashed  Phil's  defender. 
"He  never  spares  himself.  He  thinks  of  nothing 
279 


The  Inner  Flame 

but  work.  Now,  I  have  never  forced  any  of  my 
relatives  on  the  Fabians,"  with  heightened 
color,  "but  your  father  likes  Phil.  He  was 
delighted  to  have  me  ask  him.  He  has  charged 
me  to  hold  on  to  the  boy  until  he  can  join 


us." 


"I  hope  he  can  stay,"  put  in  Kathleen 
politely. 

"If  I  can  get  him  there,"  said  Mrs.  Fabian. 
"Here  is  this  matter  of  the  berths,  as  usual. 
The  stateroom  has  been  engaged  for  a  month, 
but  we  have  only  Molly's  berth  outside." 

Kathleen's  eyes  grew  eager.  "Well,  that's 
all  right,"  she  said.  "You  won't  mind  taking 
Molly  in  the  stateroom  in  my  place,  and  let 
Mr.  Sidney  have  her  berth.  I'll  wait  and  come 
up  with  father." 

"You  not  go  with  us?  Kathleen,  you're 
absurd."  Color  streamed  again  over  Mrs. 
Fabian's  face. 

"No,  no.  That  will  be  a  fine  plan,  and 
relieve  you  of  all  embarrassment.  Father  will 
like  to  have  me  here,  and  I  shall  love  to  stay 
with  him." 

Mrs.  Fabian  gazed  at  the  girl  in  silence.  She 
admired  Kathleen  extravagantly.  There  was 
something  in  the  girl's  natural  poise  and  ele- 

280 


The  Peacemaker 

gance  which  the  stepmother,  with  an  innate, 
unacknowledged  consciousness  of  inferiority, 
worshipped.  She  never  forgot  that  Kathleen's 
mother  had  been  a  Van  Ruysler.  Now,  as  if  it 
were  not  enough  that  Edgar  scorned  the  island, 
and  even  if  he  should  be  granted  leave  of 
absence  would  not  play  the  courteous  host  to 
Phil,  now  Kathleen  was  anxious  to  avoid  him, 
and  caught  at  an  excuse  to  postpone  her  de- 
parture. 

The  girl  grew  uncomfortable  under  the  fixed 
stare  bent  upon  her,  and  when  suddenly  Mrs. 
Fabian  dropped  her  coffee-spoon  and  burying 
her  face  in  her  hands  burst  into  tears,  Kathleen 
arose  in  dismay,  the  soft  laces  of  her  negligee 
floating  in  the  breeze  she  made  hastening  around 
the  table  and  taking  the  weeping  one  in  her 
arms. 

"I  don't  know  what  has  happened,"  she  said 
in  bewilderment,  "but  I  am  sure  it  is  all  my 
fault.  I  was  trying  to  help  you,  mother." 

"You  were  not!"  responded  Mrs.  Fabian,  as 
angrily  as  the  softening  nature  of  salt  water 
would  permit.  "You  were  trying  to  avoid  that 
poor,  lonely  little  fellow." 

Kathleen  bit  her  lip  as  memory  presented 
the  stalwart,  self-confident  artist  before  her. 
281 


The  Inner  Flame 

"You  tell  me  to  take  my  young  cousin  if  I 
must,  and  get  his  visit  over  with  before  you 
come  up  there  to  enjoy  yourself.  You  don't 
care  how  much  you  hurt  his  feelings." 

"Why,  mother,  would  n't  he  think  it  very 
natural  that  I  should  keep  father  company?" 

"No,  certainly  not,  when  he  knows  that 
Edgar  is  here.  He  does  n't  know  that  Edgar 
is  n't  any  use  to  anybody,  unless  it's  Mrs. 
Larrabee.  He'd  just  think  the  truth:  that  you 
don't  want  to  be  there  at  the  same  time  he  is." 

"Now,  mother,  you're  so  mistaken.  He 
would  n't  even  miss  me.  When  he  gets  the  view 
from  our  porch  he  won't  know  whether  I'm 
there  or  not." 

"Very  convenient  excuse;  but  you  need  n't 
make  any  more  of  them.  I  understand  you, 
Kathleen.  Why  should  n't  I,  when  I  taught 
you  to  walk?  I'm  foolish  to  break  down  before 
you.4  I  ought  to  have  more  pride;  but  it 's  the 
heat.  I  'm  tired  and  nervous;  and  you  come 
home  from  college  with  no  interest  except  in 
what  you've  left  behind  you,  and  want  to 
arrange  things  so  that  my  guest  at  the  island 
will  have  his  visit  spoiled — " 

"Mother,  he  - 

"Nobody  at  the  cottage  but  me,  and  nobody 
282 


The  Peacemaker 

to  help  entertain  him  but  Mrs.  Wright  and 
Eliza  Brews ter  and — " 

"Mother,  he— " 

"It's  so  often  that  I  ask  any  of  my  friends 
there!  So  often  that  I  bore  you  and  Edgar  to 
look  out  for  my  guests!  I  must  always  be  on 
hand  for  yours,  to  chaperone  you  and  see  that 
all  goes  smoothly  for  your  plans.  I  suppose  — " 
'  "Mother,  indeed — •" 

"If  Phil  had  sunstroke,  it  would  be  all  the 
same  to  you,  just  so  he  kept  out  of  your  way; 
and  Christmas  week  when  we  went  there  to  tea, 
how  nice  he  was  to  us,  and  so  amusing,  getting 
everything  in  such  perfect  order  that  he  apolo- 
gized for  not  dusting  the  marshmallows.  Oh, 
my  head  is  just  bursting!" 

"There,  mother  dear,  I  know  you  will  be  ill, 
if  you  get  so  excited,"  said  Kathleen,  patting 
the  heaving  white  silken  shoulder.  "Of  course, 
I'll  go  to  the  island  with  you.  I  did  n't  know 
you  cared  so  much." 

Mrs.  Fabian  lifted  her  swollen  eyes  to  behold 
her  victory.  "There's  one  comfort,  Kathleen," 
she  said,  deep  catches  in  her  breath.  "You 
never  do  things  by  halves.  If  you  do  go,  you'll 
never  allow  Phil  to  feel  that  he  bores  you." 

The  girl  smiled.  "No,  if  I  succeed  in  calling 
283 


myself  to  his  attention,"  she  answered,  "I 
promise  he  shan't  suspect  it." 

"If  he  is  sometimes  absent-minded,"  said 
Mrs.  Fabian  defensively,  "I'm  sure  I  don't 
know  any  one  who  should  have  so  much  sym- 
pathy with  him  as  you  —  the  very  queen  of 
wool-gatherers." 

Kathleen  laughed  and  went  back  to  her  seat 
at  the  table.  "  I  see  that  I  must  reform,"  she 
replied. 

"I'm  relieved,  and  I  do  thank  you,"  said  her 
mother;  "but  the  question  remains,  how  are 
we  going  to  get  Phil  there?" 

"That's  easy.  Send  Molly  with  the  other 
maids  by  the  boat.  I  '11  hook  your  gown." 

"There,"  returned  Mrs.  Fabian;  "you  see, 
you  might  have  suggested  that  in  the  first 
place.  I  understand  you  well  enough,  Kath- 
leen." 

"  I  thought  it  would  be  good  fun  to  hob-nob 
with  father.  It's  so  long  since  I  have." 

"I'm  going  to  persuade  him  to  leave  business 
early  this  year.  It  has  worried  him  unusually 
this  winter.  He  can  if  he  only  thinks  so.  I 
reminded  him  this  morning  that  if  he  died,  the 
business  would  have  to  get  on  without  him. 
He  agreed,  but  said  in  that  case  the  loss  would 

284 


The  Peacemaker 

be  wholly  covered  by  insurance.  Rather  grim 
sort  of  humor,  that.  I  told  him  I  could  n't  see 
anything  funny  in  such  talk." 

"Poor  father,"  commented  Kathleen. 
"Everybody  is  tired  this  time  of  year.  There 
should  be  some  arrangement  of  relays  in  run- 
ning a  business.  The  winter  workers  should  be 
turned  out  to  grass  in  May." 

She  looked  at  her  father  that  evening  with 
observant  eyes,  as  together  they  moved  into 
his  den  after  dinner.  It  had  been  closed  from 
the  sun  all  day  and  he  sank  into  a  big  leather 
armchair  by  a  breeze-blown  window,  following 
his  daughter's  white-clad  figure  with  apprecia- 
tive eyes. 

"I'm  glad  you're  through  college,  Kath," 
he  said. 

"So  I  can  light  your  cigar  the  rest  of  my 
life?"  she  asked,  seating  herself  on  his  knee  and 
applying  the  lighted  match. 

"Partly  that,"  he  answered,  drawing  in  the 
flame,  "and  partly  for  your  mother's  sake. 
She  needs  more  companionship  than  I  can  give 
her.  She  has  a  gay  nature;  she  likes  going  out. 
I  hope  you  are  n't  too  much  like  me." 

"I  hope  I'm  exactly  like  you,"  the  girl  re- 
turned devoutly;  and  leaning  forward,  she  drew 
285 


in  a  mouthful  of  the  fragrant  cigar  smoke  and 
exhaled  it  through  her  nostrils.  The  movement 
was  quick  and  graceful,  and  she  looked  mis- 
chievously pretty. 

"Don't  do  that,  you  monkey,"  said  her 
father  quickly. 

"Why  not?" 

"I  don't  like  it." 

"I'm  frightfully  unfashionable,  because  I 
smoke  so  little,"  she  returned. 

"It's  a  vicious  habit  —  for  women,"  de- 
clared Mr.  Fabian. 

"But  I'm  a  suffragist;  besides,  men  toler- 
ate it  in  women  now  —  they  like  them  to  do 
it." 

"Not  the  women  they  love,"  said  Mr. 
Fabian  quickly. 

"Oh!"  responded  Kathleen. 

"When  I  saw  you  smoking  a  cigarette  with 
Edgar  a  little  while  ago,"  he  went  on,  "I  spoke 
to  you  about  it.  Don't  you  remember?  I  told 
you  how  unbecoming  I  thought  it.  I  hoped  you 
would  heed  me." 

Kathleen  met  his  serious  gaze. 

"That  was  n't  a  little  while  ago,"  she  said. 

"Certainly  it  was.  This  winter." 

"It  could  n't  have  been  later  than  Novem- 
286 


The  Peacemaker 

her,"  she  went  on  slowly,  "for  I  haven't 
touched  a  cigarette  since  then." 

"Good  girl."  Mr.  Fabian  patted  her  shoul- 
der. "  It  disgusted  me  to  see  you.  You  '11  never 
do  it  again?" 

"No."  She  shook  her  head,  and  carefully 
ran  her  finger  through  a  ring  of  smoke  as  it 
passed  her. 

"  I  wish  I  could  get  Edgar  to  say  the  same," 
remarked  Mr.  Fabian. 

"You  don't  set  him  a  good  example,"  she 
returned. 

"You  never  saw  me  with  a  cigarette.  Edgar 
has  to  abstain  from  them  in  the  office,  but  I 
think  he  sits  up  all  night  to  make  up  for  it.  I 
have  an  idea  they  contribute  to  his  general 
uselessness." 

Kathleen  smoothed  the  care-worn  lines  in  the 
speaker's  brow  with  her  gentle  fingers.  He 
loved  their  touch. 

"I  think  Edgar  isn't  smoking  much  these 
days,"  she  said. 

"Indeed."  The  response  was  indifferent. 
"Why  should  that  be?  Does  Mrs.  Larrabee 
want  them  all?" 

"It's  on  account  of  his  voice,"  said  Kathleen. 

The  tired  man  of  affairs  removed  his  cigar  to 
287 


The  Inner  Flame 

laugh  while  his  daughter  arranged  his  hair 
around  his  temples.  "Edgar  denying  himself!" 
he  ejaculated  quietly. 

"Yes,  father,  he's  waking  up  to  it,"  said  the 
girl,  with  a  little  serious  nod;  "and  that's  one 
thing  Mrs.  Larrabee  has  really  done  for  him  — 
made  him  believe  that  his  voice  is  worth  work- 
ing for." 

"It's  the  only  thing  she  can  find  to  flatter 
him  about.  That's  all  that  amounts  to,"  said 
Mr.  Fabian,  resuming  his  cigar.  "So  long  as 
she  can  make  any  use  of  him  she  will  keep  him 
dangling  about,  and  flattery  is  the  best  bait." 

"But  his  voice  is  a  real  gift,"  insisted  Kath- 
leen, with  deliberate  emphasis.  "Don't  you 
think  so?" 

"I  never  heard  him  sing  that  I  know  of  — 
certainly  not  for  years." 

"It  is  beautiful  —  the  heart-reaching  kind. 
If  he  had  n't  been  a  rich  man's  son  it  would 
have  been  given  to  the  world  in  some  shape." 

"A  rich  man's  son."  Mr.  Fabian  repeated 
the  words  quietly,  and  took  his  daughter's  arm 
in  a  strong  grasp.  "Kathleen,  this  has  been  an 
awful  winter.  I  don't  know  what  the  next  year 
will  bring  forth.  Say  nothing  to  your  mother, 
but  there  are  threatening  clouds  all  about  me." 
288 


The  Peacemaker 

"Father!"  The  girl  pressed  her  cheek  to  his, 
and  there  was  a  moment  of  silence;  then  she 
spoke  again  gently.  "I  have  often  wished  I 
might  have  been  your  son." 

The  hand  that  had  gripped  her  arm,  stole 
around  her  and  drew  her  close. 

After  a  moment,  she  sat  up  again  and  faced 
him.  "I  came  in  here  to-night  on  purpose  to 
speak  to  you  about  Edgar,"  she  went  on.  "He 
wanted  me  to  intercede  for  him  in  a  matter." 

"A  matter  of  debts,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr. 
Fabian,  his  manner  imperturbable  again,  and 
his  tone  bitter. 

"Yes,  but— " 

"I'm  through,"  interrupted  the  man.  "He 
has  had  plenty  of  warning.  I  would  not  tell 
you,  Kathleen,  the  number  of  foolish,  and 
sometimes  disgraceful,  affairs  I  have  settled 
for  him." 

"I  don't  doubt  it,  dear,  but  let  me  tell  you 
about  this,"  said  the  girl  seriously.  "Edgar 
has  no  judgment  or  foresight.  He  persists  in 
claiming  that  he  was  born  with  a  golden  spoon 
in  his  mouth  and  that  whatever  he  can  scoop 
up  with  it  is  his  right.  He  is  your  only  son  and 
you  owe  him  unlimited  liberty." 

"The  lessons  I  have  given  him  would  be 
289 


The  Inner  Flame 

sufficient  if  he  had  any  brains,"  said  the  father 
sternly. 

"Yes;  but  just  a  minute  more.  This  debt 
will  astonish  you.  It  is  to  Mazzini,  the  famous 
voice  teacher.  He  has  been  studying  with  him 
since  January." 

"Just  like  his  vanity!  Let  him  send  the  bill 
to  Mrs.  Larrabee.  It  is  her  doing." 

"Yes,  it  was  her  doing  in  the  first  place,  but 
I  suspect  from  what  Edgar  says  that  she  is 
tired  of  him.  He  has  n't  seen  her  often  of  late, 
and  she  sails  for  Europe  anyway  next  week; 
and  Edgar  is  so  interested  in  his  music  that  now 
it  comes  first.  His  teacher  is  so  enthusiastic!" 

"Of  course  he  is!"  observed  Mr.  Fabian 
cynically.  "They're  always  enthusiastic  over 
the  voices  of  pupils  whose  pocketbooks  will 
stand  the  strain." 

"Edgar  sang  for  me  last  night  while  you  and 
mother  were  out.  Father,  it  was  a  beautiful 
performance.  It  is  the  real  thing.  Of  course, 
he  was  wrong  —  crazy,  to  go  into  such  expense 
without  asking  you,  for  the  lessons  are  fright- 
fully dear;  but  if  the  boy  were  to  amount  to 
something  in  an  artistic  line,  would  n't  it  be 
worth  the  investment?  You  are  discouraged 
by  his  lack  of  interest  in  business." 
290 


The  Peacemaker 

Mr.  Fabian's  chin  sank  dejectedly  as  he 
flicked  the  ash  from  his  cigar  into  the  receiver 
on  the  stand  beside  his  chair. 

"Discouraged  by  his  inability,"  he  said 
slowly;  "discouraged  by  his  lack  of  principle, 
by  his  vanity  and  conceit.  I  will  give  him  board 
and  lodging  as  long  as  he  wishes  to  live  with 
me;  but- 

"Then,  dear,"  interrupted  Kathleen,  her 
voice  thrilling  with  the  sympathy  she  felt,  "try 
this  one  thing  more.  If  the  expense  does  n't 
appall  you — " 

Mr.  Fabian  shook  his  head  impatiently. 
"That  would  be  nothing  —  as  yet." 

"Edgar  can't  study  through  the  summer. 
His  teacher  is  going  to  Italy.  He  would  like  to 
go  with  him  — "  the  girl  paused  doubtfully. 

Her  father  laughed.  "I  dare  say.  Edgar's 
European  travel,  however,  is  over  until  he  is 
engaged  to  sing  before  the  crowned  heads." 

"Yes,  I  supposed  so,"  agreed  the  girl;  "but 
he  means  to  work  faithfully  all  summer." 

"Work  faithfully!  Edgar!"  repeated  Mr. 
Fabian. 

"Supposing  he  should,  father.  Supposing  he 
has  found  his  niche  in  life  and  will  do  something 
worth  while." 

291 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Wonderful  if  true,"  remarked  Mr.  Fabian. 

"But  it  won't  help  to  disbelieve  in  him.  I 
know  he  began  all  wrong  forcing  you  to  pay 
this  money  — " 

Kathleen  arose  suddenly,  and,  moving  across 
the  room,  opened  the  heavy  door  of  the  den. 
"Come  in,  Edgar,"  she  called.  The  invitation 
was  unnecessary;  for  the  youth,  in  his  eagerness 
to  hear  what  fate  was  being  meted  out  to  him 
within  the  closed  apartment,  had  been  leaning 
so  hard  against  the  door  that  when  all  at  once 
it  fell  away  from  him,  he  staggered  into  the 
room  with  the  most  undignified  celerity. 

Stirred  as  Kathleen  was,  she  had  to  bite 
her  lip  before  she  could  speak;  but  when 
her  brother  had  gained  his  perpendicular 
and  faced  them  with  a  somewhat  frightened 
and  very  crimson  countenance,  she  broke  the 
silence. 

"Tell  father,"  she  said,  "that  you  know  you 
began  this  new  venture  wrong:  that  it  was 
shameful  to  force  him  to  pay  this  big  bill  for 
your  lessons." 

Edgar  choked  and  swallowed,  meeting  the 
eyes  that  were  lifting  to  him  from  the  depths 
of  the  leathern  armchair.  Convicted  of  eaves- 
dropping and  reading  the  cold  appraisement  in 
292 


The  Peacemaker 

his  father's  gaze,  he  had  not  gathered  himself 
to  utter  a  word  when  Mr.  Fabian  spoke. 

"You  have  not  forced  me,"  he  said  slowly. 
"I  can  refuse.  You  are  of  age.  You  can  be 
sued  and  imprisoned  quite  independently  of 


me." 


Edgar's  heart  beat  fast  and  he  set  the  even 
teeth. 

"You  have  counted  once  more  on  my  unwill- 
ingness to  have  this  occur;  but  that  unwilling- 
ness has  been  weakening  for  years." 

Still  Edgar  did  not  speak.  Kathleen,  stand- 
ing by  her  father's  chair,  her  hands  clasped 
tightly,  dared  not.  She  noted  that  Edgar's  gaze 
did  not  fall.  He  met  his  father's  eyes  in  crimson 
silence. 

"You  know,"  continued  Mr.  Fabian  dis- 
tinctly, "whether  I  have  exhausted  persuasion 
and  argument  with  you.  You  know  my  futile 
attempts  to  rouse  your  ambition  to  be  my 
coadjutor,  my  successor.  What  you  do  not 
know,  because  you  are  incapable  of  under- 
standing, is  the  agony  of  the  slow  death  of  my 
hope  in  my  only  son:  the  successive  stages  of 
thought  which  have  finally  reduced  me  to 
closing  the  account,  and  charging  him  up  to 
profit  and  loss." 

293 


The  Inner  Flame 

Kathleen  watched  her  brother"  under  the 
lash  with  the  same  pitiful  misery  she  felt  for  his 
punishments  when  they  were  children. 

"But  you're  going  to  try  him  in  this  new 
field,  father,"  she  said  beseechingly. 

There  was  a  space  of  silence,  then  Mr.  Fabian 
spoke :  — 

"I  am  going  to  trust  your  sister's  judgment 
in  this  matter,  Edgar.  She  believes  you  are  in 
earnest.  I  am  going  to  pay  these  tuition  bills, 
and  the  coming  months  will  show  whether  this 
is  another  passing  toy,  or  a  matter  in  which  you 
can  make  good.  To  find  you  are  good  for  any- 
thing, my  boy,"  added  the  father,  after  another 
painful  pause,  "will  be  an  amazing  and  welcome 
discovery." 

Something  clicked  in  Edgar's  throat.  He 
evidently  wished  to  speak,  but  his  tongue 
seemed  glued  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth.  At  last 
he  found  voice. 

"I  don't  blame  you,"  he  said  jerkily,  "but  — 
I'll  show  you!" 

Mr.  Fabian  nodded  his  head  slightly.  "That's 
what  I  want,"  he  said  quietly;  "I  need  to  be 
shown." 

Without  another  word,  Edgar  turned  on  his 
heel  and  left  the  room. 
294 


The  Peacemaker 

Kathleen  sank  on  her  knees  and  buried  her 
face  on  her  father's  breast. 

"He  didn't  thank  you,"  she  said,  half 
weeping,  "but  he  felt  it.  I  know  he  felt  it.  Oh, 
father,  how  I  hope  for  your  sake  — " 

She  could  not  speak  further,  and  Mr.  Fabian 
patted  her  shoulder,  his  eyes  gazing  out  the 
darkening  window. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
MRS.  FABIAN'S  SCHEME 

MRS.  FABIAN  chanced  to  meet  Edgar  as  he  was 
leaving  the  house  immediately  after  this  inter- 
view. She  had  heard  the  closing  of  the  library 
door,  and  the  expression  of  her  son's  excited 
face,  as  he  strode  by  her,  was  such  that  she  let 
him  go  in  silence. 

She  knew  Kathleen  was  with  her  father,  and 
she  was  only  too  willing  to  use  the  girl  as  a  buf- 
fer when  Edgar  was  the  subject  of  conversation. 

She  moved  about  restlessly  until  she  heard 
Kathleen  leave  the  den  and  close  the  door  softly 
behind  her.  Then  she  waylaid  her  daughter  at 
the  foot  of  the  staircase.  By  the  soft  light  of 
the  electric  lantern,  she  could  see  that  the  girl's 
eyes  were  red. 

"Come  right  up  to  my  room,"  she  whispered, 
excitedly,  as  if  the  very  walls  had  ears.  "I  just 
met  Edgar." 

They  ascended  in  silence  and  Mrs.  Fabian  led 
the  way  into  her  boudoir,  started  an  electric 
fan,  and  turned  on  the  light. 
296 


Mrs.  Fabian's  Scheme 

"Has  his  father  cut  him  off?"  she  asked,  fac- 
ing Kathleen,  her  gaze  wide  with  dread. 

"No,  oh,  no."  The  girl  sank  into  a  chair. 
"It  was  awful,  but  I  hope  it  is  the  beginning  of 
better  things.  Did  you  know  that  Edgar  had 
begun  to  work  with  his  voice?" 

"No!  I've  noticed  that  he  has  been  making 
the  most  awful  noises  in  his  room  lately." 

"Well,  the  talk  grew  out  of  that  and  the  new 
debts  he  has  contracted." 

"Edgar  can't  turn  around  without  getting 
into  debt!"  ejaculated  his  mother  desperately. 

Kathleen  told  her  then  what  had  occurred 
and  she  listened  attentively. 

"Do  you  suppose  it  will  amount  to  any- 
thing?" she  asked  at  last. 

Kathleen  shook  her  head  vaguely.  "  I  don't 
know  enough  about  the  opportunities,"  she 
replied,  "and  I  know  too  much  about  Edgar. 
If  he  is  only  going  to  use  an  accomplishment  to 
stand  in  a  more  brilliant  limelight  with  those 
whose  admiration  he  wants  — "  she  shook  her 
head  again. 

Mrs.  Fabian  looked  thoughtful.  "I  never 
saw  such  a  look  in  his  face  as  he  had  just 


now." 


"Father's  words  stung  him,  I  know.    He 
297 


The  Inner  Flame 

even  said,  'I  don't  blame  you.'  Perhaps  he  will 
begin  now  to  be  a  man." 

"I  thought  he  might  be  going  forever.  I 
did  n't  dare  to  speak  to  him." 

Kathleen  gave  a  disclaiming  exclamation. 
"He  could  n't  do  that.  He  is  more  helpless 
than  a  little  new-fledged  chicken." 

"I  don't  know,"  returned  Mrs.  Fabian  sapi- 
ently.  "Take  a  weak,  good-looking  fellow  like 
Edgar,  with  a  lovely  voice,  and  if  he  became 
reckless  there  are  plenty  of  sporty  cafes  in  this 
town  where  they  would  pay  him  as  an  attrac- 
tion. He  knows  that." 

"Mother!"  exclaimed  Kathleen,  aghast. 

"Why,  certainly!"  averred  Mrs.  Fabian  dis- 
mally elated  at  the  dismay  she  had  evoked. 
"There  are  a  few  things  I  know  more  about 
than  you  do,  Kathleen.  Imagine  a  handsome 
young  fellow  in  correct  evening  clothes,  when 
the  patrons  are  hilarious  at  midnight,  rising  in 
his  place,  and,  wineglass  in  hand,  suddenly 
singing  a  love-song  or  ragtime.  Do  you  think 
he  would  get  a  few  encores?  Do  you  think  he 
could  get  paid  to  come  again?"  Mrs.  Fabian 
had  heard  a  description  of  lurid  New  Year's 
Eve  revels  and  she  built  a  shrewd  surmise 
upon  it. 

298 


Mrs.  Fabian 's  Scheme 

Kathleen  was  so  worked  upon  by  the  picture 
that  she  rose  restlessly,  and  moving  to  the  win- 
dow gazed  into  the  summer  gloom  as  if  search- 
ing for  a  glimpse  of  her  brother's  well-carried, 
polished  blond  head. 

Mrs.  Fabian  bridled  with  dignified  import- 
ance as  she  watched  her;  but  her  complacency 
was  short-lived. 

Kathleen  suddenly  faced  about.  "Then 
how,"  she  asked,  "  can  you  wish  me  to  leave  for 
the  island  at  such  a  time?" 

"Oh,  are  you  going  back  to  that  again!" 

"With  father  and  Edgar  in  this  sensitive  state 
toward  each  other  —  to  leave  them  to  meet 
alone  in  this  great  house,  with  no  one  to  soften 
the  embarrassment.  Would  it  be  any  wonder  if 
Edgar  fled  to  just  such  scenes  as  you  describe? 
And  would  n't  it  be  decidedly  our  fault?" 

Mrs.  Fabian  leaned  forward  in  her  armchair. 

"You  could  n't  do  any  permanent  good," 
she  said  earnestly.  "Edgar  must  really  act 
alone,  whether  you  are  here  or  not.  He  has  n't 
done  any  of  his  practising  here  anyway,  except 
those  uncanny  noises  in  his  room." 

"No.  There  is  some  piano  house  where  he 
has  been  able  to  use  a  room  at  noon;  but  his 
teacher  sails  this  week  and  he  cannot  get  the 

299 


The  Inner  Flame 

room  any  more.  He  would  naturally  do  a  lot  of 
work  at  home  after  you  were  gone,  if  he  felt 
at  ease;  and  if  I  were  here,  it  would  help  a  great 
deal." 

Mrs.  Fabian  felt  baffled.  The  truth  of  Kath- 
leen's proposition  was  unanswerable;  and  to 
urge  any  claim  above  Edgar's  good  at  this 
crucial  time  would  be,  she  knew,  inexcusable 
in  his  sister's  eyes. 

The  girl,  burdened  with  the  double  respon- 
sibility of  her  father's  confidence,  and  Edgar's 
future,  turned  again  to  the  window  and  gazed 
out  into  the  darkness,  while  Mrs.  Fabian,  lean- 
ing back  in  the  breeze  from  the  electric  fan, 
put  on  her  thinking-cap.  It  seemed  hard  that 
her  wayward  boy,  if  he  had  started  on  a  worthy 
road,  should  manage  at  his  very  first  step  to 
get  in  her  way. 

Her  will  was  strong  and  shrewd.  When  later 
that  night  she  was  alone  with  her  husband,  she 
opened  the  subject. 

"Kathleen  tells  me  Edgar  has  taken  up  seri- 
ous work  with  his  voice." 

"Kathleen  is  optimistic,"  was  the  laconic 
reply. 

"I  think,  Henry,  we  ought  to  meet  him  half- 
way in  any  honourable  undertaking." 
300 


Mrs.  Fabian's  Scheme 

Mr.  Fabian  made  an  inarticulate  exclama- 
tion. He  was  thinking  of  the  bill  Kathleen  had 
placed  in  his  hands  before  she  left  him  to-night. 

"I  can't  think,"  proceeded  Mrs.  Fabian, 
"that  anything  but  a  high  sense  of  duty  would 
induce  anybody  to  make  the  blood-curdling 
noises  that  I've  heard  lately  from  Edgar's 


room." 


A  short  silence;  then  Mrs.  Fabian  spoke 
again.  "It  seems  he  cannot  go  any  longer  to 
the  place  where  he  has  done  his  practising.  I  'm 
afraid  if  he  should  work  evenings  here,  it  might 
annoy  you,  Henry." 

"  I  dare  say  it  might,"  agreed  the  weary  man, 
with  an  involuntary  sigh. 

"  I  was  thinking  that  if  he  is  not  very  busy 
at  the  office  — " 

"Very  busy!"  The  father  threw  back  his 
head. 

"You  might  give  him  a  longer  vacation"  — 

"Edgar's  whole  life  is  a  vacation,"  said  Mr. 
Fabian. 

"And  let  him  go  with  us  to  the  island.  If  he 
is  really  going  to  make  music  his  lifework  he 
could  practise  regularly  there  and  be  away 
from  temptations,  and  — " 

Mr,  Fabian  slowly  faced  his  wife  with  such 
301 


The  Inner  Flame 

attention  that  she  paused  hopefully,  then  went 
on:  — 

"You  know  Philip  Sidney  is  going  with  me,  and 
his  companionship  would  be  so  good  for  Edgar." 

"It's  a  bright  thought,  my  dear,"  said  Mr. 
Fabian.  "The  office  will  be  able  to  struggle 
along  without  Edgar,  and  then  we  can  close  the 
house  and  I  can  live  at  the  club." 

"Not  too  long,"  said  his  wife,  so  pleased  at 
her  sudden  success  that  she  put  her  arms  around 
his  neck  and  kissed  him.  "Not  too  long,  Henry. 
You  must  take  a  long  vacation  this  year." 

He  returned  her  caress.  "One  day  at  a  time," 
he  said  briefly. 

Mrs.  Fabian  sought  her  pillow,  well-pleased; 
and  contrary  to  her  habit,  she  was  up  betimes 
next  morning,  and  hastened  to  her  son's  room 
before  he  came  down  to  breakfast. 

"Can  I  come  in?"  she  asked,  knocking. 

Edgar  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves  adjusting  his 
tie;  and  when  he  opened  the  door  and  saw  his 
mother,  he  gave  an  exclamation. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked.  "Too  hot 
to  sleep?" 

A  cloudless  sun  was  promising  another  day 
with  a  soaring  thermometer. 

Mrs.  Fabian  noted  the  hard  questioning  in 
302 


Mrs.  Fabian 's  Scheme 

her  boy's  eyes.  She  knew  he  considered  her  his 
father's  aid  in  denying  him  the  right  to  spend 
as  a  millionaire's  son  should  —  knew  that  his 
attitude  toward  her  had  long  been  defensive; 
and  that  her  unusual  visit  to  his  room  roused 
only  his  suspicion  of  something  disagreeable. 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  come  in,  dear?"  she  asked, 
her  soft  silks  trailing  noiselessly  as  she  moved 
across  the  room.  "I  am  so  interested  in  what 
I  hear  about  your  music." 

Edgar  was  silent,  continuing  to  busy  himself 
with  his  tie.  He  knew  his  stepmother  too  well 
to  believe  that  she  had  risen  with  the  lark  to 
felicitate  him  on  his  last  venture.  He  took  up 
the  ivory  military  brushes  she  had  given  him 
and  began  to  use  them  vigorously.  He  was  still 
smarting  from  the  scene  of  the  night  before 
and  he  braced  himself  for  a  homily  on  the  sub- 
ject of  his  music  bill. 

"I've  never  believed  in  thwarting  a  child's 
bent,"  said  Mrs.  Fabian,  flicking  the  ashes  from 
a  chair  to  make  it  fit  to  sit  upon.  "I  said  to 
Philip  Sidney's  mother,  'let  him  paint.'  I  said 
to  your  father  last  night  when  I  heard  all  this, 
'let  Edgar  sing.'" 

Mrs.  Fabian  paused  to  allow  her  breadth  of 
view  to  sink  in.  Edgar  glanced  around  at  her 

303 


The  Inner  Flame 

sulkily,  from  his  mirror,  and  then  looked  back 
again. 

"Now,  you  have  no  taste  for  commercial  life, 
dear,  why  waste  more  time  in  it  at  present  until 
you  see  what  the  artistic  line  holds  for  you?" 

Edgar  glanced  back  at  the  speaker  again 
quickly.  What  was  the  "nigger  in  the  fence"? 
Her  face  looked  innocently  out  at  him  from  a 
becoming  boudoir  cap. 

"And  I  suggested  to  your  father  that  he  let 
your  vacation  start  earlier  and  that  you  come 
with  us  to  the  island  next  Wednesday.  You  are 
going  to  work  for  a  time  anyway  without  your 
teacher,  and  this  hot  atmosphere  must  be  so 
relaxing  to  the  throat.  There  it  is  pure  and 
bracing  and  you  can  lay  out  your  course  of 
study  and  be  undisturbed." 

Edgar  regarded  the  speaker  with  some  inter- 
est now,  but  still  questioning. 

"Father  thinks,  then,  we  could  close  the 
house  and  he  would  live  at  the  club." 

Edgar  tossed  his  head,  raised  his  eyebrows, 
and  proceeded  to  put  on  his  coat. 

"You  want  to  close  the  house.  That's  it," 
he  said. 

"Don't  you  think  it  would  be  a  good  plan?" 
asked  Mrs.  Fabian  ingratiatingly. 

304 


Mrs.  Fabian's  Scheme 

All  Edgar's  cynicism  was  not  proof  against 
allowing  some  satisfaction  to  appear 'in  the 
prospect  of  leaving  the  office  routine  and  pur- 
suing the  line  of  work  which  had  genuinely 
captured  his  interest. 

"Yes,  I  don't  mind,"  he  answered.  "Kath 
going  with  you?" 

"Yes,  and  Philip  Sidney,  —  just  for  a  short 
visit." 

Edgar  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"You  can  imagine  the  heat  of  that  stable 
room,"  suggested  Mrs.  Fabian. 

"Tophet,  I  suppose,"  agreed  Edgar.  "All 
right.  I'll  go."  The  even  teeth  had  been  set 
many  times  since  last  evening  in  the  prospect 
of  a  tete-a-tete  existence  with  his  father. 

"  I  wish  we  might  go  on  all  together,  but,  of 
course,  not  knowing,  I  did  n't  engage  a  berth 
for  you." 

"I'll  go  on  the  day  train,"  responded 
Edgar;  adding  with  his  customary  grace,  "I 
never  was  keen  for  travelling  in  caravans  any- 
way." 

Mrs.  Fabian  was  not  critical  of  his  rudeness. 
She  was  too  pleased  at  having  gained  her  end, 
and  soon  floated  away  to  Kathleen's  room,  her 
next  strategic  point. 

305 


The  Inner  Flame 

She  found  her  daughter  propped  up  in  bed 
with  coffee  and  toast  on  a  table  before  her. 

"Good  morning,  mother,  you  put  me  to 
shame,"  said  the  girl.  "Didn't  you  sleep 
either?  This  is  early  for  you." 

"Poor  child,"  said  Mrs.  Fabian,  seating  her- 
self on  the  foot  of  the  bed  and  observing  the 
rings  around  the  other's  eyes.  "Yes,  I  slept 
pretty  well,  but  not  until  after  your  father  and 
I  had  had  a  long  talk." 

Kathleen  scrutinized  her  mother's  compla- 
cent countenance  and  made  up  her  mind  that 
the  talk  could  not  have  concerned  business. 

"  I  told  him  how  sure  I  felt  that  Edgar  was  in 
earnest  now,  and  we  both  concluded  it  was  time 
wasted  to  try  any  longer  to  fit  a  square  peg 
into  a  round  hole,  so  your  father  is  going  to  let 
the  boy  go  to  the  island  at  once  with  us  and 
work  at  his  voice  there,  away  from  tempta- 


tions." 


"Oh,howfine!"  breathed  Kathleen.  "Then," 
she  added  aloud,  "he  will  entertain  Mr.  Sidney 
in  my  place,  and  I  can  stay  with  father." 

"That's  an  absurd  idea  and  you  know  it. 
Philip  and  Edgar  would  get  along  like  two 
tigers.  You  can  see  that  I  need  you  more  than 
ever  to  reconcile  them." 

306 


Mrs.  Fabian's  Scheme 

Kathleen's  face  did  not  look  encouraging. 
She  longed  to  tell  her  mother  of  her  father's 
straits,  but  her  lips  were  sealed. 

"Besides,"  added  Mrs.  Fabian,  with  the 
conscious  power  of  one  who  plays  the  last 
trump,  "one  reason  your  father  wishes  to  dis- 
pense with  Edgar  is  that  he  wants  to  close  the 
house  and  live  at  the  club." 

Kathleen's  face  fell  and  her  eyes  looked  away. 

"You  see  he'll  come  to  us  all  the  sooner, 
dear,"  said  her  mother.  "Men  talk  about  en- 
joying living  at  the  club,  but  when  they  are 
happy  family  men  they  tire  of  it  very  soon." 

The  girl  smiled  faintly.  "We  have  been 
something  of  a  'happy  family'  lately,"  she  said; 
"but  if  Edgar  really  turns  over  a  new  leaf — " 

"Oh,  he  has!  "  declared  Mrs.  Fabian.  "I'm 
glad  to  remember  that  the  outdoors  is  large  at 
Brewster's.  I  suspect  he  will  nearly  drive  us 
crazy,  but  one  must  exercise  some  self-sacrifice 
in  this  world."  She  rose.  "Take  another  nap  if 
you  can,  Kathleen.  I'm  thankful  the  island  is 
so  near  for  you.  You're  completely  tired  out." 

But  Kathleen  did  not  take  another  nap.  She 
dressed  very  soon,  and,  pleading  a  desire  for 
fresh  air,  left  the  house.  She  did  not  ask  for  the 
machine  lest  her  mother  should  offer  to  accom- 

307 


The  Inner  Flame 

pany  her,  but  descended  in  all  her  dainty  white- 
ness into  the  subway  and  started  for  Wall 
Street.  Arrived  at  the  labyrinth  of  offices 
where  daily  Mr.  Fabian  struggled  and  Edgar 
endured,  she  dreaded  meeting  her  brother,  but 
she  saw  nothing  of  him,  and  waited  in  an  ante- 
room, looking  about  her  with  a  swelling  heart. 
How  little  part  she  and  her  mother  had  ever 
had  in  the  heavy  responsibilities  of  her  father's 
life.  She  doubted  if  her  mother  came  here  twice 
a  year,  and  when  she  did  it  was  simply  to  obtain 
money. 

She  had  not  long  to  wait,  for  Mr.  Fabian 
himself  opened  the  door  of  his  private  office, 
and  the  clerk  passing  out  saw  him  stoop  and 
kiss  the  girl  in  the  large  hat  strewn  with  lilacs. 

"What  brings  you,  my  dear?"  he  asked,  his 
brows  knitting  anxiously.  She  smiled  and 
clung  to  his  hand  as  they  moved  inside. 
"You're  pale,  Kathleen.  Off  to  the  island  with 
you,  child.  Off  to  the  island." 

"That's  just  what  I  came  about,"  she  an- 
swered, taking  the  chair  he  set  for  her,  and  the 
electric  fan  whirring  above  her  head  carried  the 
scent  of  orris  to  her  father.  "  I  would  so  much 
rather  stay  with  you.  I  came  to  urge  you  to  let 


me." 


308 


Mrs.  Fabian's  Scheme 

He  regarded  her  with  eyes  full  of  affection 
and  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"I  frightened  you  last  night,"  he  said.  "Per- 
haps I  did  wrong." 

"No,  no,  you  did  n't.  Mother  told  me  the 
plan  to  let  Edgar  go.  That  is  right.  Edgar 
can't  be  a  comfort  to  you;  but  I  can,  father. 
Don't  shut  up  the  house.  Let  me  stay  with  you 
till  you  are  ready  to  go." 

Mr.  Fabian  nodded,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
sensitive  face  with  its  beseeching  eyes. 

"You're  a  good  girl,  Kathleen.  You  are  a 
comfort  to  me,  whether  we're  together  or  not; 
and  just  now  it  will  be  an  advantage  to  me  to 
live  close  to  my  associates  at  the  club.  Go  with- 
out anxiety,  child.  I  promise  to  keep  you  ad- 
vised of  everything  important." 

The  troubled  eyes  did  not  leave  his  face. 

"Don't  exaggerate  what  I  said  last  night.  I 
am  not  going  to  make  any  spectacular  failure, 
but  I  have  my  own  ideas  of  equity  and  I  'm  not 
going  to  wriggle  out  on  a  technicality.  My 
course  may  lose  me  friends  as  well  as  money; 
but  I  've  got  to  live  with  myself,  and  there  are 
some  memories  I  don't  propose  to  entertain. 
Your  mother  has  always  been  moderate  in  her 
demands,  she  has  never  shared  the  insane  ambi- 
.309 


The  Inner  Flame 

tions  of  some  of  her  acquaintances;  but  her 
toys  are  very  dear  to  her  and  I  hate  to  curtail 
them.  It  looks  as  if  I  might  have  to." 

"It  might  be  the  making  of  Edgar,"  said 
Kathleen. 

iHer  father  regarded  her  in  silent  admiration. 
It  was  evident  that  her  own  part  in  the  loss  had 
not  occurred  to  her. 

"Your  mother's  unselfishness  in  keeping  the 
island  summer  home,  because  I  like  its  sim- 
plicity, makes  this  season's  problem  easy.  By 
autumn  I  shall  know  the  worst." 

"How  I  would  like  to  stay  with  you  right 
along  until  everything  is  settled,"  said  Kath- 
leen fervently.  "I  want  to  be  sure  that  you 
know  how  happy  I  should  be  in  it.  I  keep  so 
busy  with  my  slides  and  microscope,  and  then 
—  there's  something  else  I  do."  Kathleen 
colored  consciously.  "I  meant  not  to  tell  any 
one  yet,  but,  —  I  write  a  little!" 

"Stories,  you  mean?" 

The  girl  nodded.  "  It  is  nothing,  it  may  never 
amount  to  anything;  but  the  microscope  sug- 
gested it  to  me.  There  is  such  a  great  world 
that  we  never  enter  or  think  about.  So  you  can 
see  how  happy  I  should  be  in  our  big,  cool  house, 
and  not  a  bit  lonely,  —  if  you'll  only  have  me." 

310 


Mrs.  Fabian's  Scheme 

"I  believe  you,  Kathleen,  but  it  wouldn't 
work,  dear.  I  could  be  at  home  so  little,  and 
I'd  like  to  cut  off  the  expense  of  the  house." 

"Oh,  oh!  Is  it  so  bad  as  that?" 

"No,  not  nearly  so  bad;  but  in  time  of  peace, 
prepare  for  war." 

"Then  mother  had  better  not  take  her  usual 
weeks  at  a  resort." 

Mr.  Fabian  raised  his  eyebrows.  "How  else 
is  the  dear  lady  to  exhibit  her  summer  toilets? 
The  fish  at  the  island  are  so  unappreciative." 

"Don't  keep  things  from  mother,"  pleaded 
Kathleen. 

"I  promise  not  to  when  there  is  anything  to 
tell.  I  was  weak  enough  to  think  out  loud  with 
you.  Now,  run  along,  my  child." 

"Oh,  father,  always  be  weak  enough  to  think 
out  loud  with  me.  Will  you?"  He  had  risen 
and  she  did  so  reluctantly. 

He  crushed  her  trim  whiteness  in  his  arms, 
and  kissed  her.  "Don't  make  me  sorry,  then. 
Don't  cross  any  bridge  until  you  come  to  it. 
Promise." 

She  smiled  up  at  him  bravely.  "I  promise," 
she  said,  and  left  the  office  with  a  wistful  back- 
ward 'look  at  him  standing  there,  his  eyes  fol- 
lowing her. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

CASCO     BAY 

PAT'S  benevolent  heart  swelled  with  satisfac- 
tion when,  a  few  evenings  later,  Philip  ran  down 
the  stable  stairs,  his  packed  suitcase  in  hand. 

"Wish  you  were  going  along,"  said  the  artist, 
meeting  the  Irishman's  approving  gaze. 

"I  will  as  soon  as  ye  need  a  valet,"  was  the 
reply.  "Ye  think  I  can't  put  on  style!"  Pat 
winked  and  shook  his  head  knowingly.  "Ye'd 
burst  wid  pride  if  ye  saw  me  fixed  up  and  waitin' 
on  ye." 

"I  have  n't  a  doubt  of  it.  Well,  so  long.  It 
will  be  only  a  few  nights  before  I  shall  be  back, 
sizzling  with  you  again."  And  Phil  gave  the 
man  a  smiling  nod  and  went  out  of  the  door, 
almost  running  into  the  arms  of  Mrs.  Fabian, 
who,  in  the  trimmest  of  cool  grey  travelling 
gowns,  was  looking  askance  at  a  spring  and 
mattress  outside  the  barn  door. 

Pat  aghast,  hastened  tobutton  the  open  throat 
of  his  shirt.  "The  Queen  o'  Sheby,"  he  muttered. 

"Why,  did  I  keep  you  waiting,  Aunt  Isabel?" 


Casco  Bay 

asked  Phil,  with  contrition.  "  I  was  planning  to 
be  out  in  front  in  plenty  of  time." 

"Yes,  it  is  early,  but  I  wanted  to  speak  to 
your  man  a  minute." 

Pat  bowed  in  the  direction  of  the  voluminous 
grey  chiffon  veil.  "You  may  go  out  and  join 
Kathleen,"  Mrs.  Fabian  added. 

"Dear  me,  nothing  private,  I  hope,"  said 
Phil,  vastly  amused  by  the  conflicting  emotions 
on  the  Irishman's  face. 

"Have  you  seen  to  putting  your  evening 
clothes  away?"  asked  Mrs.  Fabian. 

"Why  —  why,  they're  hanging  up  there  in 
the  closet." 

"Just  what  I  expected.  Run  along,  and  I'll 
tell  this  good  man  what  to  do." 

Phil  gave  Pat  one  humorous  glance  and 
obeyed,  passing  out  toward  the  street  where  he 
soon  saw  Kathleen  in  the  waiting  car,  her  hat 
tied  down  by  a  roseate  veil. 

Mrs.  Fabian  at  once  accosted  Pat.  "Could 
you  pack  up  Mr.  Sidney's  belongings  and  send 
them  after  him,  if  we  ask  you?" 

"I  could,  mum,  but  'tis  only  a  week  he'll 
be  away." 

"He  would  n't  want  his  evening  clothes.  Do 
you  know  what  a  moth-bag  is?" 

313 


The  Inner  Flame 

"I  do  not,  thin." 

"Well,  go  to  the  store  and  ask,  please.  Brush 
Mr.  Sidney's  evening  clothes  thoroughly  and 
put  them  in  the  bag,  seal  it  up  tight,  and  hang 
it  in  the  closet.  The  careless  boy.  That's  what 
comes  of  always  having  had  a  mother." 

"Lot's  o'  folks  is  jist  that  careless,"  remarked 
Pat.  He  was  beginning  to  feel  that  even  a 
queen,  if  she  invaded  his  own  vine  and  fig  tree, 
might  be  a  little  less  peremptory. 

"You  may  send  everything  else,  except  of 
course  his  winter  overcoat.  By  the  way,  you 
may  get  another  moth-bag  for  that,  and  treat 
it  in  the  same  manner." 

"He'll  not  be  stayin',  mum.  He's  all  for 
work." 

"Has  he  been  sleeping  out  here  on  these  hot 
stones?"  demanded  Mrs.  Fabian,  with  dilating 
nostrils,  looking  at  the  mattress. 

"No,  mum,  he  usually  took  the  bed,"  re- 
sponded the  Irishman. 

"Well,  you've  carried  his  upstairs,  I  see." 

"I'll  have  to  break  it  to  ye  that  he  did  it 
himself,"  said  the  man. 

Mrs.  Fabian  ignored  his  manner.  Her  thought 
was  filled  with  Philip's  situation. 

"Well,  here,"  she  said,  with  a  preoccupied 
3H 


Casco  Bay 

air,  and,  taking  a  bill  from  the  fine-mesh  purse 
which  hung  from  her  wrist,  she  held  it  out  to 
the  Irishman.  "Take  this  and  do  what  I've 
asked  you.  You  need  n't  prepay  the  trunk  if 
you  send  it.  Keep  the  change,  and  I  hope  the 
heat  here  won't  grow  any  worse.  Good-bye." 
And  Mrs.  Fabian  turned  on  her  heel  and  the 
grey  chiffon  floated  away  up  the  alley. 

Pat  looked  at  the  five-dollar  bill  he  held  and 
tossed  his  head.  "Who  is  that  bye,"  he  mut- 
tered, "  and  will  he  iver  live  in  the  stable  ag'in  ? " 

Suddenly,  bethinking  himself  that  he  might 
see  the  grand  departure  of  his  lodger,  he  hurried 
out  to  the  street,  and  was  in  time  to  see  Phil's 
straw  hat  loom  amid  a  confusion  of  grey  and 
rosy  streaming  veils. 

"Sure,  't  is  only  the  rich  enjoys  this  life,"  he 
thought  good-naturedly,  and  unbuttoning  his 
neckband  again,  he  returned  to  his  palm-leaf  fan. 

As  the  motor  flew  breezily  through  the  hot 
city  streets,  Philip  gave  himself  up  to  the 
pleasure  of  his  outing.  Mrs.  Fabian  regarded 
him  with  supreme  satisfaction,  and  Kathleen, 
though  a  little  heartsore  from  parting  with  her 
father,  dared  not  indulge  in  a  pensive  moment, 
knowing  that  her  mother  would  pounce  upon  it 
alertly  and  later  reproach  her. 

315 


The  Inner  Flame 

They  passed  the  evening  in  the  stateroom  of 
the  flying  train,  and  Mrs.  Fabian  narrated  with 
much  dignity  the  tale  of  Edgar's  retirement 
from  commercial  life  in  favor  of  the  arts.  Philip 
pricked  up  his  ears  when  he  learned  that  the 
heir  of  the  house  was  expected  at  the  island  at 
once. 

Kathleen  was  not  obliged  to  talk  much,  and 
at  last  they  all  ceased  fanning  themselves  and 
shouting  remarks  against  the  clatter  of  the  open 
windows,  and  retired. 

After  breakfast  the  following  morning,  as 
they  entered  a  carriage  to  cross  Portland, 
Kathleen  nodded  at  Philip. 

"Say  good-bye  to  heat,"  she  remarked. 

"Hard  to  believe,"  returned  the  Westerner, 
who  had  tried  to  refrain  from  talking  of  his 
native  mountains.  His  thoughts  often  travelled 
back  even  to  the  stable  studio  where  certain 
work  begun  stood  awaiting  his  return;  but  soon 
after  they  entered  the  boat  for  the  island,  he 
began  to  see  Kathleen's  words  fulfilled.  The 
ladies  wrapped  themselves  in  heavy  coats  and 
Mrs.  Fabian  begged  Phil  to  put  on  his  sweater; 
but  he  held  his  hat  in  his  hand  and  declared  his 
desire  to  be  chilled  to  the  bone. 

As  they  pulled  out  past  the  near  islands  into 
316 


Casco  Bay 

wide  spaces  of  sea,  interest  slowly  grew  in  Phil's 
eyes.  His  comments  grew  less  frequent,  and 
finally  stopped.  The  islands  rose  tree-crowned 
from  the  water,  casting  deep  green  reflections 
at  their  feet.  Phil  took  a  notebook  from  his 
pocket,  and  occasionally  asking  the  name  of  an 
island,  he  wrote  it  in  the  book.  Kathleen, 
understanding  his  intent,  and  knowing  that  he 
would  not  fulfil  it  because  of  greater  satisfac- 
tion further  on,  smiled  at  her  mother. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  she  asked. 

"Well,  what  did  you?" 

"That  he  would  n't  know  whether  I  was  here 
or  not." 

"Sh— !" 

"He  can't  hear  me  any  more  than  if  he  were 
anaesthetized. " 

"Hush,  Kathleen." 

"I'll  prove  it."  She  raised  her  voice.  "Mr. 
Sidney!" 

Phil  not  only  did  not  reply,  but  after  a  mo- 
ment more  he  moved  away  to  another  and  more 
unobstructed  spot. 

Kathleen  gave  a  low  laugh  and  Mrs.  Fabian 
looked  pleased. 

"He  is  enjoying  it,  is  n't  he?"  she  returned. 
'This  day  is  a  wonderful  bit  of  good  fortune. 
'317 


The  Inner  Flame 

First  impressions  are  so  important.  What  made 
you  expect  him  to  behave  like  this?" 

"I  think  I  must  have  a  groping,  artistic  sense 
myself.  At  any  rate,  I  knew  what  Casco  Bay 
must  do  to  an  artist  when  he  comes  upon  it  all 
unprepared." 

Mrs.  Fabian  sighed.  "Well,  I'm  glad  our 
coming  here  does  somebody  some  good.  Are 
you  going  on  forever  calling  that  boy  'Mr.'? 
Of  course,  he  can't  be  informal  with  you  unless 
you  will  be  so  with  him." 

"Mother  dear,  I  tell  you  it  does  n't  matter," 
laughed  the  girl.  "He  has  gone  into  a  trance 
and  he  probably  won't  come  out  of  it  till  the 
first  fog.  By  that  time,  perhaps  I  shall  feel 
entirely  informal." 

Captain  James  stood  on  the  pier  when  the 
boat  approached  Brewster's  Island.  Kathleen 
caught  sight  of  him  and  waved  her  handker- 
chief. 

"Mother,  it's  time  to  go  and  make  passes 
over  Philip,"  she  said.  "He'll  have  to  wake 
up." 

Mrs.  Fabian  went  to  the  guest  and  touched 
him  on  the  arm.  For  an  hour  and  a  half  he  had 
not  addressed  them. 

He  started. 

318 


Casco  Bay 

"We're  there,  Phil,"  she  said. 

He  followed  her,  and  glanced  at  Kathleen 
with  a  sensation  of  guilt.  He  seized  the  bags 
with  an  alacrity  intended  to  offset  his  preoccu- 
pation. 

"It's  a  wonderful  bay,"  he  said. 

Kathleen  was  not  regarding  him.  She  was 
leaning  over  the  rail,  waving  again  toward  a 
tall  lean  man  on  the  wharf,  who  smiled, 
well-pleased,  and  jerked  his  head  in  her  direc- 
tion. 

Soon  many  passengers  were  streaming  up  the 
gangplank,  and  in  a  minute  Kathleen  was  greet- 
ing the  tall  lean  man  with  a  gayety  Phil  had 
never  before  seen  in  her  demeanor. 

Mrs.  Fabian  next  shook  hands  with  him,  and 
introduced  Phil,  who,  in  the  confusion  and 
limitations  of  the  commonplace  wharf,  had 
quite  regained  his  normal  alertness. 

"You  gave  us  a  very  nice  day,  Cap'n  James," 
said  Mrs.  Fabian  graciously.  "Where's  the 
carriage?" 

"Waitin'.  Can't  take  you  all,  I'm  afraid. 
Mrs.  Frick  from  down-along  engaged  me 
ahead." 

"Ahead  of  us?"  inquired  Mrs.  Fabian 
superbly. 

319 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Got  one  seat,"  said  Captain  James.  He 
was  accustomed  to  Mrs.  Fabian's  autocracy. 

"That's  all  we  want,"  said  Kathleen.  "Mr. 
Sidney  and  I  will  walk  up." 

So  Mrs.  Fabian  and  the  bags  were  stowed  in 
the  carriage  and  the  young  people  were  started 
on  their  walk  before  Tom  had  turned  heavily 
into  the  road. 

"What  air!"  exclaimed  Phil,  as  they  struck 
into  the  deep  grass. 

"One  can  live  on  it,"  agreed  the  girl. 

"Don't  expect  me  to;  I  feel  wonderful  pangs 
already.  Gramercy  Park  had  nearly  cured  me 
of  eating." 

He  smiled  down  at  his  companion  in  the  rose- 
ate veil  tied  under  her  chin,  and  she  glanced 
up  at  the  city  pallor  of  his  face.  "I  should 
think  it  might,"  she  agreed.  "Wait  a  week. 
We  shall  both  look  like  tomatoes  and  feel  like 
disembodied  spirits." 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  behaved  like  the  latter,  coming 
down  the  bay;  but  really  I  forgot  everything. 
I  want  to  study  the  boat-tables  and  go  back 
to  some  of  those  wonderful  shores." 

Kathleen  smiled  demurely.  "This  does  n't 
cut  much  of  a  figure  by  contrast,  does  it?"  she 
said. 

320 


Casco  Bay 

They  were  crossing  diagonally  through  a 
green  field  which  led  gently  up  to  the  island 
road. 

"It's  beautifully  fresh  here,"  replied  Phil 
politely,  looking  about  the  bare  treeless  ex- 
panse rolling  up  to  a  bluff  against  illimitable 
sky. 

A  village  store  upon  the  road,  a  little  school- 
house  and  a  cottage  or  two,  were  all  that  was 
to  be  seen. 

Above,  on  Mrs.  Wright's  doorstep,  Eliza 
Brewster  was  standing,  opera  glass  in  hand, 
watching  the  tall  figure  and  the  rosy  veil  com- 
ing up  through  the  field.  She  had  restrained 
herself  from  running  down  to  the  road,  for  she 
dreaded  Mrs.  Fabian,  and  Phil  for  the  moment 
had  forgotten  that  Eliza  might  be  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. His  eyes  brightened  as  they  reached 
the  road.  He  had  been  privately  wondering 
why  the  Fabians  had  chosen  this  unpromising 
island  as  their  abiding  place.  Now  he  caught 
sight  of  the  spreading  cove,  its  brilliant  banks 
dark  with  evergreen  trees,  while  in  sheltered 
spots  maples  and  birches  stood  amid  a  riot  of 
shrubs  inviting  the  birds. 

"That's  a  fine  cove,"  he  said,  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  far  reaches  of  the  sea. 
321 


The  Inner  Flame 

"So  the  yachtsmen  think,"  returned  Kath- 
leen. 

"Let's  look  at  it  a  minute,"  said  Phil. 

The  girl  paused  obediently  and  a  smile 
touched  the  corners  of  her  lips.  Phil's  imperson- 
ality with  regard  to  herself  was  novel;  for  Kath- 
leen had  the  intangible  quality  called  charm  to 
such  a  degree  that  nothing  masculine  had  ever 
before  been  able  to  approach  so  near  to  her 
without  striving  to  win  her  favor. 

From  that  first  Sunday  in  the  stable  studio 
she  had  perceived  that  if  she  were  going  to  see 
more  of  this  new  factor  in  the  family  circle  she 
must  do  the  striving  if  she  were  to  become  a 
factor  to  him.  A  dread  that  she  might  desire 
to  do  this  had  beset  her  ever  since,  and  warned 
her  away  from  him  with  a  sense  of  self-preserva- 
tion. 

He  stood  forgetful  of  her  now,  and  narrowed 
his  eyes  to  the  picture. 

"Well,  have  you  looked  enough?"  she  asked. 
"How  are  the  pangs?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  replied  hurriedly.  "I  can 
come  back." 

"Certainly,  we  promise  not  to  lock  you  up," 
she  answered,  half-laughing.  "We'll  get  better 
views  of  it,  too,  as  we  go  on,"  she  added,  and 

322 


Casco  Bay 

turned  at  a  right  angle  into  a  green  ribbon  road 
leading  up  a  second  incline. 

Phil  looked  about  vaguely,  and  followed  her. 
He  noticed  on  the  crest  above  them  a  cottage 
of  boulders  and  shingles. 

"Yours? "he  asked. 

"Home,  sweet  home,"  she  answered. 

Captain  James  passed  them  now  with  his 
load,  and  by  the  time  they  reached  the  cottage, 
Mrs.  Fabian  was  on  the  steps  to  welcome  them; 
but  Philip  was  absorbed  in  the  surprise  which 
the  summit  of  that  hill  gave  the  newcomer. 
Before  him,  but  a  few  rods  away,  spread  the 
Atlantic,  foaming  at  the  foot  of  the  bluff.  Dis- 
tant islands  came  near  in  the  crystal  air,  their 
outline  defined  by  rocks,  which  in  the  distance 
seemed  ribbons  of  sandy  beach.  The  superb 
breadth  of  view,  ending  either  in  the  horizon 
or  in  the  irregular  skyline  of  the  mainland,  took 
the  breath  of  the  unfamiliar. 

Mrs.  Fabian  straightened  with  pleasure  in 
the  spellbound  look  of  her  guest  as,  his  hat 
dropped  upon  the  grass,  he  gazed  in  silence. 
It  was  her  island  and  her  view.  She  started  to 
speak,  but  Kathleen  touched  her  finger  to  her 
lips  with  a  suggestive  smile;  so  the  lady  sank 
instead  into  a  hammock  chair.  Her  maid  Molly 

323 


The  Inner  Flame 

came  out  of  the  house,  greeted  the  ladies  and 
carried  in  their  bags,  saying  that  dinner  would 
be  served  whenever  they  were  ready. 

Philip,  from  his  stand  below  on  the  grass, 
turned  and  looked  up  at  them,  his  eyes  dark 
with  the  blue  of  the  sea. 

"I  understand  now,"  he  said,  "why  you 
have  n't  talked  about  it." 

"Come  in  and  have  something  to  eat,"  sug- 
gested his  exultant  hostess.  "We  have  noon 
dinner.  Kathleen  simply  refuses  to  shorten  the 
day  with  a  long  evening  meal." 

Philip  gave  the  girl  a  brilliant  smile  of  appre- 
ciation. 

"After  dinner,"  went  on  Mrs.  Fabian, 
"  Kathleen  will  take  you  to  walk  to  some  of  our 
pretty  places." 

"No,  indeed,"  said  the  girl  hastily.  "I  un- 
derstand just  how  Mr.  Sidney  will  love  tp 
explore  for  himself.  I  would  n't  spoil  his  sur- 
prises." 

Philip  said  nothing  to  the  contrary.  His 
thoughts  were  absorbed  taking  mental  stock 
of  the  materials  he  had  brought,  and  he  fol- 
lowed mechanically  into  the  charming  cottage 
whose  every  window  framed  a  water  scene, 
waves  creaming  upon  the  rocks  which  stretched 


Casco  Bay 

granite  fingers  unceasingly  to  grasp  them,  while 
unceasingly  they  slipped  away. 

As  soon  as  Phil  reached  his  room  he  threw 
open  his  suitcase  with  feverish  haste  and  ex- 
amined all  the  sketching  paraphernalia  he  had 
packed  so  hastily. 

The  music  box  which  called  to  meals  played 
all  its  tunes,  but  the  guest  did  not  appear.  At 
last  Mrs.  Fabian  sent  Molly  to  knock  on  his 
door. 

"What  a  wonderful  day,"  she  said  to  Kath- 
leen when  they  were  alone,  "and  in  June  one  is 
so  likely  to  strike  fog  and  rain.  Now  let  it  come. 
He  has  seen  what  Brewster's  Island  really  is  - 
or  he  will  see  when  you  have  taken  him  about 
this  afternoon.  The  only  drawback  to  the  whole 
trip  so  far  has  been  your  refusal  to  do  that. 
How  could  you  be  so  abrupt,  my  dear?" 

"Mother,  don't  try  to  manage  an  artist," 
replied  the  girl  emphatically.  "He  will  want 
only  to  be  let  alone.  Can't  you  see  it?  And  so 
do  I."  Kathleen  looked  remarkably  defiant. 
"I  want  to  be  let  alone.  This  is  my  vacation, 
too,  remember.  I  have  worked  as  hard  as  he 
has." 

Mrs.  Fabian  met  her  child's  determined  re- 
gard with  surprise.    Kathleen  did  look  pale  and 
325 


The  Inner  Flame 

thin,  now  that  she  had  time  to  observe  it. 
The  heat  of  the  train  last  night  had  not  been 
conducive  to  sleep. 

"Very  well,  dear,"  she  acquiesced  with 
meekness.  "Perhaps  you  ought  to  lie  down  this 
afternoon.  I'm  sure  I  shall.  I'd  like  the  very 
waves  to  be  still." 

As  she  spoke  the  last  word,  Philip  appeared 
and  they  sat  down  at  table.  The  combination 
of  the  air  and  the  delicious  fresh  sea-food  to 
one  long  unaccustomed  to  home  fare  made  the 
guest  suspend  all  artistic  calculations  and  do 
such  justice  to  the  dinner  that  Mrs.  Fabian 
sighed. 

"It  is  such  a  satisfaction  to  have  a  man's 
appetite  at  the  table,"  she  said,  when  Phil 
made  laughing  apology  and  referred  to  the  city 
restaurants.  "To-morrow  we  shall  have  two 


men. 
u 


To  be  sure,"  thought  Phil.  These  were 
Edgar's  mother  and  sister  and  home.  Somehow 
he  could  not  fit  the  blase  society  man  into  this 
Arcadia.  He  must  make  the  most  of  to-day. 

As  his  hunger  wore  away  he  looked  more  and 
more  from  the  windows.  The  dining-room 
might  have  been  on  a  ship  for  the  freedom  of 
its  vast  sea  views.  When  they  rose  from  the 

326 


Casco  Bay 

table,    he   looked   at   Kathleen   with   boyish 
expectancy. 

"Are  we  going  to  walk?"  he  asked. 

Mrs.  Fabian  interposed  with  the  best  inten- 
tions. "I  don't  think  Kathleen  had  better  go, 
after  all,  Phil,"  she  said.  "She  is  very  tired. 
She  is  going  to  lie  down.  You  won't  mind  run- 
ning about  this  first  afternoon  by  yourself, 
I'm  sure." 

Kathleen  saw  disappointment  and  then  con- 
cern grow  in  the  guest's  face,  for  he  suddenly 
observed  that  she  was  pale. 

"Nonsense,  I  would  n't  think  of  wasting  time 
lying  down,"  she  said  cheerfully.  "Wait  a  few 
minutes.  I'll  be  downstairs  in  a  jiffy." 

Mrs.  Fabian  watched  her  as  she  ran  lightly 
up  the  stairway. 

"Do  you  think  she  ought  to  go?"  asked  Phil 
doubtfully. 

"Philip,"  returned  his  hostess  dryly,  "don't 
ask  me  what  I  think.  If  you  ever  have  a 
daughter  twenty  years  old  and  just  out  of 
college,  you  will  find  the  safest,  wisest  course  is 
not  to  think  at  all."  But  she  smiled  as  she  said 
it;  for  this  time  Kathleen's  waywardness  was 
not  displeasing. 


CHAPTER  XDC 

FLASHES   OF   BLUE 

WHEN  Kathleen  ran  downstairs  a  little  later, 
Phil  looked  at  her  in  smiling  surprise.  The  ele- 
gant Miss  Fabian  had  disappeared.  In  her 
stead  was  a  young  girl,  shorter  by  the  height 
of  a  fashionable  boot-heel,  and  with  braided 
hair  wound  around  her  head,  fastened  by  a 
broad  bow  of  black  ribbon.  Her  short,  dark- 
blue  skirt  reached  to  her  ankles  and  a  Tarn  oj 
Shanter  crowned  her  head. 

Phil  turned  to  his  hostess.  "What  a  strong 
family  resemblance  your  youngest  bears  to 
Miss  Fabian.  I  should  know  she  was  her  sister 
if  I  met  her  anywhere." 

"Yes,  this  is  Kathleen,  not  Miss  Fabian. 
Don't  forget  it.  When  you  come  back,  I  expect 
you  to  be  treating  each  other  as  cousins  should. 
Don't  let  her  walk  too  far,  Phil."  Mrs.  Fabian 
stifled  a  yawn.  "I  think  I  shall  take  a  nap  in 
the  wind-break." 

Shewatched  the  pair  as  they  moved  away  from 
the  house.  The  breeze  was  tossing  the  short 
328 


Flashes  of  Blue 

dark  hair  on  Phil's  uncovered  head.  Kathleen, 
in  her  rubber-soled,  heelless  shoes,  scarcely 
reached  his  ear. 

"I'm  glad  now,"  mused  Mrs.  Fabian,  "that 
Kathleen  is  a  Van  Ruysler  iceberg.  If  she  were 
a  susceptible  girl,  I  would  n't  wish  her  to  be 
with  that  man  a  minute.  What  matter  if  he  is 
a  high-minded,  fine  chap  ?  If  he  did  n't  care 
for  her  she'd  suffer  just  the  same."  And  Mrs. 
Fabian  gave  a  yawn  mightier  than  its  prede- 
cessors and  sought  her  favorite  nook. 

Meantime  Eliza  Brewster  was  making  rest- 
less sallies  from  the  kitchen  to  the  front  room 
and  gazing  over  toward  the  boulder  cottage. 
She  felt  sure  Phil  would  inquire  about  her,  and 
not  let  too  much  time  pass  before  he  ran  across 
the  field  to  Mrs.  Wright's. 

The  dinner  dishes  were  washed  and  cleared 
away  and  Eliza  had  on  a  clean  gingham  dress 
and  white  apron.  Mrs.  Wright  saw  her  expec- 
tancy. 

"Mr.  Sidney  is  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land," 
she  said.  "He  will  be  entirely  dependent  on  his 
hosts  this  first  day.  Why  should  n't  we  run 
over  there?"  she  added  with  a  bright  thought. 
"That's  only  island  neighborliness." 

But  Eliza  shook  her  head. 
329 


The  Inner  Flame 

"  It  would  be  the  very  way  to  begin  a  new 
chapter,"  urged  Mrs.  Wright. 

Eliza  gazed  from  the  window  by  which  she 
was  sitting.  In  the  evolution  to  health  and 
peace  which  the  winter  had  brought,  her  causes 
of  offence  had  gradually  retreated  into  greater 
perspective,  and  the  broad  calm  outlook  which 
Mrs.  Wright  brought  to  bear  on  the  untoward 
as  well  as  the  agreeable  events  of  life  had 
affected  the  narrow  hardness  of  her  own  obser- 
vations. Nevertheless,  to  beard  the  lioness  in 
her  den  on  the  very  day  of  her  arrival  would  be 
a  feat  entirely  beyond  Eliza;  so  she  only  shook 
her  head  again,  put  on  a  shade  hat,  turned  up 
the  skirt  of  her  dress,  and  went  out  to  weed  the 
sweet  peas. 

Thus  it  was  that,  with  her  back  to  the  boulder 
cottage  and  her  hands  busy  with  the  earth  she 
loved,  she  did  not  hear  steps  that  approached 
on  the  springy  turf;  and  the  first  notice  she  had 
of  the  arrival  of  callers  was  a  man's  voice 
speaking  above  her. 

"Doing  finely,  aren't  they?"  was  the  remark. 

Well  she  knew  the  voice.  She  stepped  on  her 
petticoat  in  her  haste  to  arise,  and  two  strong 
hands  went  under  her  arms  and  lifted  her  to 
her  feet. 

330 


Flashes  of  Blue 

"Mr.  Philip!"  she  said  gladly. 

He  was  laughing  down  at  her,  and  Pluto  was 
on  his  shoulder.  Kathleen  Fabian  stood  a  few 
feet  away,  and  Eliza  nodded  a  greeting  to  her 
while  she  allowed  Phil  to  shake  both  her  hands, 
green  stains  and  all.  Mrs.  Wright,  seeing  them 
from  a  window,  came  out  to  welcome  Kathleen 
and  meet  Phil,  and  the  usual  felicitations  on 
the  weather  and  first  impressions  followed. 

"  I  can  see,"  said  Phil,  "that  I  am  going  to  be 
miserly  of  my  days.  I  was  just  asking  Miss 
Kathleen  if  all  this  beauty  is  liable  to  vanish 
in  a  fog-bank  to-morrow." 

"And  she  told  you  not  at  all  liable,  I  'm  sure," 
said  Mrs.  Wright;  "but  if  it  does  —  that  is  the 
beauty  of  the  island  —  you  '11  sit  before  a  blaz- 
ing open  fire  and  enjoy  that  quite  as  well." 

Phil  shook  his  head.  "The  mere  amazement 
of  enjoying  a  fire  at  the  end  of  the  past  week 
would,  indeed,  be  absorbing  for  a  while;  but  I 
want  to  try  my  hand  at  this  —  this  new  world." 
He  looked  off  at  the  blue  of  the  crested  waves 
and  the  blue  of  the  distant  hills.  "We  are  just 
on  our  way  to  the  boat  now  to  send  a  night 
letter  to  Pat  to  get  him  to  send  on  some  stuff. 
I'm  glad  you're  such  a  near  neighbor,  Eliza. 
I  shall  be  seeing  you  often." 

331 


The  Inner  Flame 

"I'll  not  waste  your  time  now  asking  you 
into  the  house,"  said  Mrs.  Wright,  "but  some 
wet  day  you  must  come  in  and  try  our  fireplace. 
When  does  your  brother  come,  Miss  Kathleen  ? " 

"To-morrow;  and  your  niece,  Mrs.  Wright?" 

"In  another  week,  I  think.  I  long  to  get 
hold  of  the  child." 

After  a  few  more  amenities,  in  which  Eliza 
took  but  little  part,  except  to  gaze  at  Phil  with 
wistful  eyes,  the  young  people  started  for  the 
wharf. 

"What  -a  bonny  young  man,"  said  Mrs. 
Wright,  looking  after  them. 

"Ain't  he  just  about  right?"  agreed  Eliza 
proudly.  "You  see  there  ain't  any  philanderin' 
there.  He  just  wants  to  work  and  work.  Here, 
Pluto!  Kitty,  kitty,"  for  the  cat  was  running 
after  the  departing  couple.  He  paused,  not 
from  obedience,  but  because  he  saw  that  their 
course  lay  downhill  and  he  preferred  a  shel- 
tered sunny  corner  by  the  step. 

Phil  sent  his  night  letter  by  the  purser  of  the 
boat,  and  the  two  went  back  up  the  hill.  Mrs. 
Fabian  beckoned  to  them  from  the  veranda. 

"I  thought  you  would  be  asleep  by  this  time," 
said  Kathleen. 

"I  thought  I  would,  too,"  returned  Mrs. 
332 


Flashes  of  Blue 

Fabian.  "  Come  here  and  let  me  show  you  how 
careless  Cap'n  James  has  been." 

They  followed  her  to  the  shelter  of  the  wind- 
break where  her  favorite  hammock  hung,  and 
whirring  wings  nearly  brushed  Phil's  face  as 
they  entered.  The  nook  was  enclosed  on  two 
sides  with  glass,  and  Mrs.  Fabian  pointed  to 
the  snug  lofty  corner  where  the  swallows  had 
nested.  The  young  were  grown  and  one  had 
ventured  out  upon  a  beam. 

"Oh,  oh!"  exclaimed  Kathleen,  with  soft 
delight.  "We're  in  time  for  the  coming-out 
party.  Come  here,  mother,  you're  frightening 
them."  And  Mrs.  Fabian  found  herself  seized 
unsympathetically  and  drawn  to  a  safe  distance. 

"  But  I  must  sleep,  Kathleen.  I  'm  exhausted. 
I  was  just  dozing  off  when  those  creatures 
swooped  across  me  chattering.  I  nearly  jumped 
out  of  the  hammock.  It  was  a  nervous  shock." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  the  girl,  "they  were  saying, 
'Why  could  n't  those  big  clumsy  human  beings 
have  stayed  away  just  one  more  day!'  You 
must  be  a  mascot,  Phil,  so  many  fortunate 
happenings  for  your  first  day." 

She  was  quite  unconscious  that  the  name  had 
slipped  out,  and  the  guest  smiled  and  seated 
himself  on  the  railing  near  her  while  Mrs. 
333 


The  Inner  Flame 

Fabian  in  a  rocking-chair  began  to  be  consoled 
for  her  lost  nap. 

"Perhaps  you  would  prefer  to  go  on  explor- 
ing," added  Kathleen,  "but  I  really  can't  miss 
this  function." 

"I  would  n't  miss  it  for  a  farm,"  responded 
the  guest,  eyes  fixed  on  the  nest. 

Mrs.  Fabian  pulled  her  chair  so  that  its 
rockers  scraped  the  boards. 

"We  must  all  be  still  as  mice,"  warned  Kath- 
leen softly. 

Her  mother  looked  up  at  the  seething  nest 
with  disfavor.  Since  her  young  people  consid- 
ered the  show  such  a  treat,  she  would  be  obliged 
to  edit  the  lecture  she  had  been  preparing  for 
Captain  James.  The  parent  birds  flew  in  and 
out  in  a  state  of  great  excitement,  and  one  of 
them  fed  the  venturesome  little  fellow  on  the 
beam,  whereupon  the  others  stretched  their 
necks  and  vociferated  with  wide  mouths. 

"But  they're  so  slow,"  complained  Mrs. 
Fabian.  "Why  don't  they  fly  and  be  done  with 
it?  I  can  hardly  keep  my  eyes  open." 

"They  may  not  go  for  an  hour,  or  perhaps  all 
night  —  oh,  if  they  are  so  unkind  as  to  wait 
until  we're  all  asleep  to-morrow  morning!" 
said  Kathleen. 

334 


Flashes  of  Blue 

"Then  I  don't  know  that  I  shall  wait,"  said 
Mrs.  Fabian. 

"Perhaps  you'd  better  not,"  agreed  the  girl, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  young  bird  lest  he  should 
elude  her.  "We're  none  of  us  invited  to  this 
party,  you  see." 

Upon  this,  the  venturesome  little  swallow 
appeared  to  have  an  attack  of  homesickness, 
for,  instead  of  flying  away,  he  hopped  back  to 
the  nest,  where  he  immediately  became  very 
unpopular  with  his  brothers  and  sisters.  What- 
ever the  spot  into  which  he  had  this  morning 
fitted  so  snugly,  it  seemed  to  have  disap- 
peared. 

"Well,  did  you  ever!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Fabian  in  exasperation.  "Why  could  n't  Phil 
climb  up  there  and  set  them  all  out  on  the  beam 
and  take  the  nest  down.  I  'm  sure  it  would  just 
help  them  along." 

"Worse  than  pulling  open  a  rosebud,"  said 
Kathleen. 

"Very  well,  then,"  returned  Mrs.  Fabian. 
"I  shall  go  upstairs." 

No  one  objecting,  she  rose  and  suited  the 
action  to  the  word;  and  Kathleen  and  Phil  were 
left  to  a  welcome  solitude. 

The  parent  swallows  soon  ceased  to  notice 

335 


The  Inner  Flame 

the  two  large,  strange  birds  perched  on  the 
veranda  railing  below. 

Kathleen  had  discarded  her  Tarn  and  as 
she  sat  between  Phil  and  the  wind-break,  the 
sun  gave  him  the  red  glints  in  her  "reserved 
hair." 

The  tide  was  going  out,  but  rushing  with  a 
splendid  sweep  toward  the  foot  of  their  hill,  the 
sky  had  occasional  billows  of  downy  white  lying 
against  its  clear  blue.  The  sweet  wind  swept 
the  fresh  grass  where  daisies  were  beginning  to 
appear,  and  all  down  the  irregular  coast-line 
of  the  island  the  snowy  foam  broke  on  rock  and 
sand. 

The  iridescent  blue  of  the  swallows'  backs 
and  the  delicate  rose  of  their  breasts  lent  an 
exquisite  touch  of  color,  as  they  flew  and 
wheeled  in  the  curving  flight  designed  to  tempt 
the  solemn-faced  young,  crowded  so  uncom- 
fortably in  the  outgrown  nest. 

Again  one  struggled  out  upon  the  beam.  The 
cunning  parents  fed  it,  while  the  others  begged 
in  vain.  Then  again  the  old  birds  were  away  in 
airy  flight. 

"Come  out,  come  out  in  the  sunshine,"  they 
seemed  to  cry,  wheeling  back  toward  the  nest. 
"Come  out  to  the  ecstasy  of  wind  and  waves. 
336 


Flashes  of  Blue 

The  whole  world,  the  world  of  sea  and  sky,  is 
ours." 

Kathleen  for  an  instant  turned  about  to  her 
companion.  "Do  you  see  how  he  can  resist?" 
she  asked. 

"Kathleen!"  exclaimed  Phil. 

She  turned  back,  but  too  late.  In  that  in- 
stant the  young  bird  on  the  beam  had  flown. 

"They're  right  there,  though,"  said  Phil 
excitedly,  and  indeed  the  birds  kept  wheeling 
above  the  bluff,  when,  wonder  of  wonders,  the 
other  young  ones,  struggling  to  the  edge  of  the 
nest  as  if  unable  to  resist  the  intoxication  of  the 
sight,  flew  out  into  the  open. 

For  a  minute  the  bright  air  was  astir  with  the 
whir  of  wings.  It  was  impossible  to  distinguish 
the  young  birds  from  the  old;  then  they  all 
alighted  on  the  ridge-pole  of  a  small  summer 
house  which  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  bluff. 

Kathleen  turned  to  Phil,  her  hands  clasped 
on  her  breast.  He  thought  her  enchanted  eyes 
and  smile  suggested  the  unlocking  of  one  of  her 
inner  doors. 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  nodding,  "I  never  saw 
anything  prettier  than  that." 

The  girl  looked  back  at  the  summer  house. 
The  birds  were  still  sitting  there  all  in  a  row. 

337 


The  Inner  Flame 

The  two  watched  until  again  wings  were  afloat 
in  the  bright  air;  then  they  ran  down  the  steps 
to  see  what  would  be  the  next  resting-place, 
and  saw  the  birds  alight  on  posts  and  netting 
about  the  tennis  court.  When  again  they  flew, 
they  disappeared. 

Kathleen  sighed.  "In  my  next  incarnation," 
she  said,  "  I  choose  to  be  a  swallow  on  Brewster's 
Island." 

"Then,"  said  Phil,  looking  at  her  radiant 
face,  "I'm  glad  I  happened  to  be  a  man  during 
your  present  one." 

The  open  door  closed.  Phil  thought  he  could 
almost  hear  it  click.  In  an  instant  the  dark 
eyes  were  the  reflective  ones  he  had  known. 

"Thank  you  kindly,  sir,"  she  said.  "That 
was  good  fun.  Shall  we  go  on  now  with  our 
interrupted  walk?" 

He  continued  to  regard  her.  "I  have  an 
idea  that  you  have  walked  enough.  Twice  up 
and  down  this  hill  and  over  to  Mrs.  Wright's 
is  enough." 

"Ho!"  returned  the  girl  lightly,  "I  walk  all 
day  here." 

"Yes,  after  you  have  cooled  off  and  slept  for 
a  night  or  two;  but  I  suggest  the  hammock 


now." 


338  . 


Flashes  of  Blue 

They  were  standing  in  the  shade  and  not  a 
hint  of  red  showed  in  the  girl's  soft  hair.  "There 
are  weeks  to  rest  in,"  she  said.  "We  ought  to 
make  the  most  of  this  perfect  day." 

Phil  still  regarded  her.  The  excitement  of 
the  closing  college  experiences  and  the  city 
heat  had  left  their  mark;  and  he  did  not  know 
of  other  and  deeper  reasons  for  her  weariness. 
The  flush  of  pleasure  in  the  swallow  ball  had 
departed. 

"Come,"  he  said  decidedly,  "let's  try  the 
hammock." 

"Really,  Mr.  Sidney,"  she  answered,  smil- 
ing, "I  know  when  I'm  tired." 

But  he  proceeded  up  the  veranda  steps  and 
she  followed  him  into  the  wind-break. 

"I'm  willing,"  he  said,  "to  go  two  steps  for- 
ward and  one  back  in  my  acquaintance  with 
you;  but  I  draw  the  line  at  two  back.  It 
sounded  very  friendly  a  few  minutes  ago  when 
you  called  me  Phil.  I  hope  you'll  see  your  way 
clear  to  doing  it  again  sometime." 

While  he  spoke,  Philip  was  testing  the  ropes 
of  the  hammock. 

"Oh,  I'm  sure  I  did  n't  call  you  Phil,"  she 
said  in  surprise. 

"Let  me  see.  Did  I  call  you  Kathleen?" 

339 


The  Inner  Flame 

"I  think  you  did,"  she  replied,  a  delicate 
formality  in  her  voice;  "but  the  circumstances 
certainly  excused  it." 

"  I  hope  they  will  continue  to  excuse  it,  for  I 
feel  it  coming  on  that  I  shall  do  it  again.  You 
took  off  Miss  Fabian  with  your  tailor  gown." 
He  turned  and  faced  her.  "Did  n't  you?"  he 
added. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  smiled  again. 
"Perhaps." 

"Then  get  right  down  on  this  couch,  little 
Kathleen,"  he  ordered,  smiling,  and  after  a 
moment's  hesitation  the  girl  obeyed.  He  drew 
over  her  the  linen  coverlet  that  had  lain  on  a 
neighboring  chair,  and  looked,  not  at  her,  but 
with  fascinated  eyes  through  the  broad  sheets 
of  glass  which  guarded  the  hammock  from  the 
wind. 

"Now,  if  you  can  feel  sober  enough  to  sleep 
in  this  intoxicating  place,  do  so,"  he  said. 

Kathleen,  propped  high  on  cushions,  folded 
her  arms  beneath  her  head. 

"But  is  n't  it  questionable  courtesy  for  both 
your  hostesses  to  go  to  sleep,  no  matter  how 
sober  they  may  be?"  she  asked. 

''There's  another  hostess  here,"  he  returned, 
with  a  brilliant  look  down  into  her  uplifted  eyes. 
340 


Flashes  of  Blue 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Kathleen. 

"My  best  girl,"  said  Phil,  moving  out  of  the 
wind-break. 

Kathleen  smiled.  "Yes,  I  like  her,  too,"  she 
answered.  "I  never  had  a  lonely  moment  on 
this  island  in  my  life;  so  I  shall  not  worry  about 
you.  There's  another  hammock  around  on  the 
other  side  of  the  porch.  Why  don't  you  go  to 
sleep  yourself?" 

"Because  I'm  afraid  I  should  wake  up  in 
Gramercy  Park,"  returned  Phil,  and,  vaulting 
over  the  porch  railing,  he  disappeared  from 
Kathleen's  view. 

Walking  to  the  back  of  the  house,  he  gazed 
down  at  the  waters  of  the  cove,  then  across  the 
field  to  the  long  low  white  farmhouse  where 
he  had  found  Eliza,  then  back  again  at  the 
water.  "Miss  Manning  said  I  should  stay  here 
if  I  had  to  live  under  a  rock,"  he  reflected. 

One  week:  one  week  was  all  he  had  planned 
for,  although  Mrs.  Fabian  had  pressed  him  for 
two. 

What  were  two  weeks  now  in  prospect?  He 
knew  his  aunt  would  welcome  him  for  an  indefi- 
nite stay,  but  Kathleen  doubtless  had  plans  for 
guests,  and  moreover  Edgar's  advent  was  but 
one  little  night  away.  He  shuddered  at  the 

341 


The  Inner  Flame 

prospect  of  the  gilded  youth's  questions  and 
comments  on  his  work. 

He  decided  to  walk  around  the  edge  of  the 
island.  Then  he  looked  back  toward  Mrs. 
Wright's  house.  He  remembered  the  look  of 
disappointment  in  the  depths  of  Eliza's  shade 
hat  when  he  had  paid  the  fleeting  visit  on  his 
way  to  the  wharf. 

"I'll  goto  see  her  once  more,"  he  reflected, 
"and  have  her  off  my  mind,  for  I'm  afraid 
I  shall  forget  when  I  get  a  little  deeper  in 
here." 

Accordingly,  he  moved  off  with  long  swing- 
ing steps  through  the  soft  deep  grass,  and  Mrs. 
Wright  saw  him  coming.  She  was  sitting  with 
her  book  on  the  rustic  bench  which  took  the 
place  of  piazza  at  the  old  farmhouse. 

"Eliza,"  she  called,  "your  young  man  is 
coming  back." 

It  was  an  hour  afterward  that  Mrs.  Fabian, 
her  grudge  against  the  swallows  mollified  by  a 
nap,  came  downstairs  to  the  living-room  to 
reconnoitre.  All  was  so  still  that  she  knew  that 
either  those  dull  birds  were  still  dawdling,  or 
else  that  her  young  people  had  seen  them  off 
and  were  away  again. 

She  peered  from  a  window  into  the  glass 
342 


Flashes  of  Blue 

enclosure,  and  to  her  surprise  saw  her  daughter 
asleep  in  the  hammock.  How  slender  and  pale 
looked  the  sleeping  face. 

" Poor  child .  She 's  worn  out,  I  wonder  where 
Phil  is." 

As  if  the  gaze  had  disturbed  the  sleeper, 
Kathleen  turned  on  her  pillow  and  opened  her 
eyes. 

Mrs.  Fabian  promptly  left  the  house  and 
came  out  to  her  swinging  couch. 

"So  you  took  forty  winks,  too,"  she  said, 
casting  a  glance  up  at  the  deserted  nest. 
"Where's  Phil?" 

"I  don't  know,"  returned  Kathleen  lan- 
guidly. "I  scarcely  know  where  I  am." 

"I  hope  I  did  n't  wake  you,  gazing  from  the 
window;  but  it's  no  use  your  trying  to  sleep 
again,  for  Cap'n  James  is  coming  up  at  last 
with  the  trunks.  Kathleen,  I've  had  a  bright 
idea,"  added  Mrs.  Fabian  alertly. 

The  girl  stifled  a  yawn. 

"You  know  Phil  won't  stay  here  unless  he's 
working.  I'm  going  to  have  him  do  our  por- 
traits for  father's  Christmas  present!" 

Kathleen  was  wide  awake  instantly. 

"It  would  cost  so  much,  mother,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Fabian  stared  at  her.  "What  an  idea!" 
343 


The  Inner  Flame 

she  retorted.  "Phil  has  n't  come  to  enormous 
prices  yet!" 

"But  you  would  not  want  to  pay  him  a  small 
price.  It  would  n't  be  right." 

"Since  when  have  you  become  so  economi- 
cal?" asked  Mrs.  Fabian,  laughing.  "After 
Christmas,  I  must  tell  your  father  of  this  talk. 
How  he  will  laugh.  You  and  Edgar  should  be 
shaken  up.  Phil's  sketches  of  his  mother  show 
his  gift  for  getting  likeness.  I  don't  know 
whether  he  has  ever  painted  a  portrait,  but  I 
have  every  confidence  in  him." 

"Then  have  yours  done,  dear,"  said  Kathleen. 
"You're  looking  as  well  as  usual,  but  nothing 
would  hire  me  to  have  my  lantern  jaws  per- 
petuated." 

"Oh,  a  week  or  two  of  this  will  make  you 
bloom,  child." 

"Yes,  especially  my  nose,"  returned  the  girl. 

Her  thoughts  were  working  fast.  She  had 
been  happy  in  the  thought  that  they  were  now 
in  the  place  where  neither  her  mother  nor 
Edgar  could  commit  themselves  to  any  large 
expense.  Her  father  had  said  that  by  autumn 
he  should  know  where  he  stood.  She  could  not 
say  any  more,  however,  for  Captain  James's 
wagon  had  arrived,  and  Mrs.  Fabian  went  to 
344 


Flashes  of  Blue 

see  to  the  disposition  of  the  trunks  and  to  give 
her  caretaker  explicit  low-voiced  directions  as 
to  examining  for  and  eliminating  any  and  all 
birds'  nests  found  in  future  on  the  premises, 
and  at  last  she  brought  him  around  to  the  wind- 
break to  point  out  the  one  he  was  to  remove 
now,  with  all  its  traces,  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment. 

Kathleen,  still  lying,  her  hands  clasped  under 
her  head,  looked  up  at  him  with  a  smile. 

"  I  'm  so  glad  you  did  n't  notice  that  nest  any 
sooner,  Cap'n  James,"  she  said.  "You  might 
have  disturbed  it." 

Captain  James  chewed  a  wisp  of  grass  and 
favored  the  girl  with  a  wink. 

"It  wasn't  like  you,"  said  Mrs.  Fabian, 
with  elaborately  gentle  rebuke,  "not  to  have 
this  wind-break  cleaner.  Look  at  the  windows." 

"  I  had  Betsy  Eaton  wash  'em  on  the  outside," 
said  the  captain  imperturbably,  and  winked  at 
Kathleen  again. 

"It  was  fine  of  you,  Cap'n  James,"  she 
laughed.  "They  flew  to-day,  and  I  was  at  the 
party." 

Mrs.  Fabian  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of 
the  laughing  ones,  in  injured  dignity. 

"Very  well,"  she  said  at  last;  "now,  if  you're 
345 


The  Inner  Flame 

quite  sure  it  won't  disturb  the  plans  of  man  or 
beast,  Cap'n  James,  I  'd  like  to  have  this  wind- 
break cleaned." 

"'Nuff  said,"  returned  the  man,  and  once 
more  grinning  down  at  the  girl's  laughing  face, 
he  went  back  to  his  helper  sitting  on  the  wagon. 


CHAPTER  XX 

ELIZA   SURRENDERS 

ELIZA  had  begun  some  work  in  the  kitchen 
which  she  could  not  at  once  leave  when  Mrs. 
Wright  called  her,  so  the  latter  brought  Phil 
into  the  house. 

"No  wonder  Eliza  did  n't  expect  me  twice  a 
day,"  he  said.  "What  an  interesting  old  place 
this  is." 

"Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Wright;  "and  we  are 
making  the  most  of  the  few  days  that  it  will 
still  be  all  ours.  Miss  Jane  Foster,  who  owns 
it,  comes  almost  immediately  to  take  possession 
and  receive  her  summer  boarders." 

"But  won't  that  be  a  rest  for  you?" 

"Scarcely;  for  Eliza  has  taken  such  a  labor- 
ing oar  that  I  live  in  the  lap  of  luxury,  so  far  as 
work  is  concerned." 

Eliza  came  in,  in  time  to  hear  this  statement. 
"Don't  you  believe  it,  Mr.  Philip.  She's  the 
busy  bee  of  the  house;  but  we've  both  had  just 
enough  to  do." 

"Eliza!"  exclaimed  Phil,  approaching  and 

347 


The  Inner  Flame 

taking  both  her  hard  hands.  "Why,  I  did  n't 
half  see  you  in  that  shade  hat!  You  look  like 
a  new  being." 

Eliza  laughed  and  colored  under  the  scrutiny. 
Her  added  pounds  had  distributed  themselves 
comfortably  and  becomingly.  She  did,  indeed, 
bear  little  resemblance  to  the  haggard  creature 
of  the  autumn. 

"Why,  let  me  look  at  you!"  went  on  the 
artist  gladly.  "You've  robbed  me  of  a  whole 
lot  of  good  material.  If  you  posed  for  me  now, 
it  would  amount  to  nothing  more  than  the 
portrait  of  a  lady." 

Mrs.  Wright  laughed,  well  pleased,  and 
amused,  too,  at  the  embarrassed  manner  in 
which  Eliza  pulled  away  her  hands. 

"But  you  stay  on  here,  I  suppose,  just  the 
same,"  said  Phil,  turning  back  to  his  hostess. 

"Oh,  yes.  I've  taken  a  room  for  Violet,  my 
niece,  and  Miss  Foster  has  made  a  business 
arrangement  with  Eliza  to  be  her  helper,  so  the 
only  great  difference  will  be  the  arrival  of  new 
people." 

Considerations  immediately  ran  through 
Phil's  head  of  this  home  as  a  possibility  for 
his  prolonged  stay.  Second  thought,  however, 
pictured  the  going  and  coming  of  summer 

348 


Eliza  Surrenders 

boarders  and  the  impossibility  of  privacy. 
Besides,  he  could  not  afford  it. 

He  picked  up  a  small  black  book  which  his 
eye  had  caught  lying  beside  the  Bible  on  Mrs. 
Wright's  table. 

"Oh!"  he  said,  raising  his  eyebrows  and 
looking  at  her  with  a  smile. 

"Do  you  know  it?"  she  asked. 

"My  mother  lives  by  it,"  he  returned. 

"Then  her  boy  does,  I'm  sure,"  said  Mrs. 
Wright. 

"He  tries  to,"  answered  Phil.  "I  was  just 
thinking  now  of  our  philosophy,  and  trying  to 
know  that,  if  it's  right  for  me  to  stay  on  this 
island,  it  will  come  to  pass.  I  feel  as  if  I  could 
do  a  lot  of  work  here." 

"Mrs.  Fabian  will  have  too  much  of  a  house- 
ful?" 

"Perhaps  not;  but  there  could  n't  be  any 
independence  in  that;  and  I  could  n't  bring 
paint  rags  into  her  spick-and-span  cottage." 

"Take  board  here,"  suggested  Mrs.  Wright. 

Phil  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  want  to  give 
the  price  for  a  long  pull.  Miss  Manning  pro- 
phesied that  I  should  live  under  a  rock  rather 
than  leave.  I  '11  go  rock-hunting  some  day." 

"There  must  be  some  way,  Mr.  Philip!" 
349 


The  Inner  Flame 

exclaimed  Eliza,  who  had  listened  attentively. 
The  intensity  of  her  manner  reminded  Phil  of 
other  days. 

"You  should  have  more  stables  on  the  island," 
he  returned.  "It's  very  thoughtless  of  you." 

"We  can  all  help  him,  remember,  Eliza," 
said  Mrs.  Wright— "you  know  I've  told  you 
—  by  thinking  right." 

"Goodness  knows,  I'd  think  anything  that'd 
keep  him  here,"  returned  Eliza  bluntly.  "He's 
as  white  as  a  candle,  and  it  makes  me  sick  to 
think  o'  the  perspiration  runnin'  into  his  eyes. 
What  d'you  want  me  to  think?  I'll  say  the 
moon's  made  o'  green  cheese,  if  it'll  do  any 
good." 

"No,  it  only  does  good  to  think  the  truth. 
It's  law.  You  remember  how  I've  told  you 
that  we  live  under  laws  and  they  are  n't  material 
ones?  Our  thoughts  are  our  whole  concern. 
Get  thought  right,  and  action  takes  care  of 
itself.  You're  stopping  up  one  of  the  chan- 
nels through  which  good  can  come  to  you  and 
yours.  You  consider  Mr.  Sidney  one  of  yours, 
I'm  sure." 

Eliza  averted  her  eyes  uncomfortably. 

"Yes,"  went  on  Mrs.  Wright,  smiling,  "I'm 
speaking  right  out  in  meeting,  because  you  Ve 
350 


Eliza  Surrenders 

told  me  that  Mr.  Sidney  knows  of  your  antag- 
onism." 

"She's  talkin'  about  the  barrel,"  remarked 
Eliza  dryly. 

"Oh,  the  barrel!"  laughed  Phil.  "I'd  forgot- 
ten about  that.  So  has  Aunt  Isabel,  I  fancy." 

"I'll  bet  a  cookie  she  went  to  your  room  and 
tried  to  get  it,"  said  Eliza,  eyeing  him  shrewdly. 

Phil  nodded.  "Yes,  she  did." 

Eliza  struck  her  hands  together  with  satis- 
faction. "I'd  give  more'n  a  cookie  to  have 
seen  her  face  when  she  got  there,"  she  said 
triumphantly. 

"No,  I  was  n't  talking  about  the  barrel," 
continued  Mrs.  Wright.  "That  is  your  own 
affair:  whether  you  care  to  keep  those  family 
treasures  or  to  give  them  up.  I  was  speaking  in 
general  about  your  forgiving  Mrs.  Fabian  as 
you  would  be  forgiven,  and  banishing  discord 
from  the  atmosphere.  How  can  you  tell  how 
much  sunlight  that  cloud  is  holding  back  from 
this  dear  boy  of  Mrs.  Ballard's?" 

Eliza  stared  into  space  and  bit  her  lip.  The 
three  were  standing  in  a  group  near  the  table. 

"Well,  sit  down,  anyway,"  she  said  briefly, 
and  they  did  so. 

Phil  saw  that  there  was  method  in  Mrs. 

351 


The  Inner  Flame 

Wright's  choosing  of  this  particular  opportun- 
ity to  make  a  point.  Hers  was  the  face  of  a 
peacemaker  and  it  was  easy  to  see  what  pain 
she  would  find  in  discord. 

Now  she  turned  to  Phil  and  asked  him  about 
his  father  and  mother,  and  he  told  her  of  the 
mountains,  and  his  periodical  longing  for  them. 
This  place,  he  added,  gave  him  a  similar  sense  of 
exhilaration.  It  seemed  as  if  he  were  breathing 
again  for  the  first  time  since  November. 

"YouVe  got  to  stay,"  said  Eliza  nervously; 
"that's  all  there  is  about  it." 

He  smiled.  "The  bark  on  a  tree  is  n't  as 
tight  as  I  am,"  he  replied.  "I've  planned  to 
make  my  money  do  just  so  much." 

"'With  God  all  things  are  possible,'"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Wright. 

"Yes,"  he  laughed;  "I'm  going  to  look  for  a 
cave  with  a  skylight." 

Eliza's  thoughts  were  painfully  busy.  The 
constant  dropping  of  the  winter  had  made  an 
impression  on  their  adamant.  Supposing  there 
should  be  anything  in  what  Mrs.  Wright  just 
said.  Supposing  God  were  to  punish  her  for 
continuing  to  hate  an  enemy;  punish  her  by 
holding  back  some  benefit  from  her  dear  one's 
protege. 

352 


Eliza  Surrenders 

She  stirred  around  in  her  chair  during  a 
pause.  "I've  been  thinkin'  to-day,"  she  said 
carelessly,  "that  I  did  n't  exactly  know  what  I 
was  goin'  to  do  with  that  barrel.  I've  got  to 
bring  it  down  from  upstairs  before  Jennie  gets 
here." 

"Let  me  do  that  for  you,"  said  Phil  quickly. 
"I've  been  honing  to  lift  something  heavy  all 
the  afternoon.  I've  felt  as  if  I  could  lick  my 
weight  in  wild  cats  ever  since  dinner." 

He  started  up  with  such  eagerness  that  Eliza 
mechanically  arose  and  went  to  the  stairs,  Phil 
following;  and  Mrs.  Wright,  a  hopeful  light  in 
her  eyes,  looked  on. 

"We've  got  to  get  these  rooms  ready  for 
boarders,"  explained  Eliza  as  they  went  up  to 
the  second  story.  "It's  real  clever  of  you  to 
lug  the  barrel  down  for  me." 

Phil  smiled  covertly  as  he  recognized  the  old 
bone  of  contention  with  the  flourishing  address 
he  had  executed,  and  he  steered  it  down  the 
narrow  stairs  successfully. 

Eliza  had  preceded  him  nimbly. 

As  soon  as  she  reached  the  living-room,  Mrs. 
Wright  approached  her. 

"Where  are  you  going  to  put  it?"  she  asked, 
looking  wistfully  at  Eliza. 

353 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Oh,  anywhere,"  replied  the  latter  with 
bravado. 

"Jane  would  n't  like  it  in  here,  of  course," 
remarked  Mrs.  Wright. 

"Well,  I  suppose  I  have  a  right  to  my  own 
room,  haven't  I?"  Eliza  retorted  sharply. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  very  much  in  the  way, 
dear?  You  have  it  fixed  so  pretty  in  there." 

"Well,  what's  the  reason  it  can't  stand  in  the 
shed?"  asked  Eliza,  with  defiance. 

Mrs.  Wright  shook  her  head.  "  'Where  moth 
and  rust  doth  corrupt,'"  she  said  slowly. 

Phil  now  had  the  barrel  down,  and  was  stand- 
ing beside  it,  waiting. 

"Whither  away,  now?"  he  asked. 

"Eliza,"  said  Mrs.  Wright,  "there's  a  wheel- 
barrow out  in  the  shed." 

Eliza  colored  and  bit  her  lip.  "Do  you 
know,"  she  said,  turning  to  Phil,  "Mrs.  Wright 
wants  me  to  give  those  things  to  Mrs.  Fabian?" 

"Well,  it  would  tickle  Aunt  Isabel  almost  to 
pieces,"  he  admitted. 

"Do  you  see  any  reason  or  justice  in  it?" 

Phil  smiled.  "  It 's  a  luxury  to  do  an  unreason- 
able thing  once  in  a  while,"  he  answered. 

"If  I  thought  it  would  do  you  the  least  bit 
o*  good,"  said  Eliza,  "I'd  do  anything.  I'd 

354 


Eliza  Surrenders 

find  a  white  hair  in  a  black  dog's  tail  and  burn 
it  by  the  light  o'  the  moon,  at  midnight,"  she 
added  scornfully;  "but  unluckily  I  ain't  super- 


stitious." 


Phil  glanced  at  Mrs.  Wright's  sweet,  earnest 
face,  and  understood  that  she  had  thought 
ieeply  of  the  prospect  of  discord  between  the 
two  cottages. 

"Come  on,  Eliza,"  he  said,  with  boyish 
enthusiasm,  "it  would  be  great  fun  to  see  Aunt 
Isabel's  face.  Even  if  you  were  after  revenge, 
coals  of  fire  are  a  mighty  punishment,  and  if 
you're  only  being  magnanimous  and  letting  by- 
gones be  bygones  why,  who  knows  but  it  will 
be  the  means  of  my  finding  the  cave  with  the 
skylight?" 

Eliza  turned  away  suddenly  from  his  laugh- 
ing eyes.  "All  right,"  she  said,  "take  it!  I'll 
show  you  where  the  wheelbarrow  is;  and  when 
you  've  got  it  across  that  hubbly  field  you  won't 
be  looking  for  wild  cats  to  fight." 

"Oh,  but  you'll  steady  the  barrel" 

"Will  I!  Well,  you  can  guess  again,  young 
man."  Eliza's  eyes  flashed. 

"Oh,  pshaw,"  he  said.  "Don't  make  two 
bites  of  a  cherry.  If  the  barrel  goes,  you 

go." 

355 


The  Inner  Flame 

Eliza  met  his  gay,  determined  look  with 
exasperation. 

"This  is  persecution,"  she  declared  angrily; 
then  added  beseechingly,  "Don't  make  me, 
Mr.  Philip." 

"I  could  n't  let  you  miss  it,"  he  returned. 
"We  have  the  white  hair  of  the  black  dog,  but, 
you  see,  we  have  to  burn  it." 

Eliza  looked  appealingly  toward  Mrs.  Wright, 
whose  face  was  expectant. 

"Dear  Eliza,"  she  said. 

"Don't  you  'dear'  me,"  snapped  Eliza. 
"Come  this  way,  Mr.  Philip." 

She  marched  out  of  the  room,  and  Mrs. 
Wright  seized  and  squeezed  Phil's  hand  as  he 
passed.  He  gave  her  a  laughing  look. 

Soon  the  march  across  the  field  began.  Mrs. 
Wright  watched  them  from  the  window.  Eliza, 
her  shade  hat  tied  primly  down  beneath  her 
chin,  steadied  the  barrel  when  Phil's  route 
encountered  too  great  an  irregularity. 

"Dear  martyr,"  thought  Mrs.  Wright,  who 
had  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  companion's  ex- 
pression as  they  moved  away.  "She  does  love 
that  beautiful  boy.  I  hope  her  reward  will  come 


soon." 


Captain  James  had  just  driven  back  down 
356 


Eliza  Surrenders 

the  hill  after  bringing  up  the  trunks  when  Phil 
and  Eliza  reached  the  shaven  sward  about  the 
Fabian  cottage. 

Phil  dropped  the  wheelbarrow  at  the  steps. 

"Wait  here  a  minute,  Eliza,  till  I  recon- 
noitre," he  said.  "This  was  a  sleeping  castle 
when  I  left." 

"Now,  if  they're  asleep-  "  said  Eliza,  has- 
tily and  hopefully;  but  Phil  had  disappeared 
quietly  around  the  corner  which  led  to  the  wind- 
break. As  he  approached,  the  sound  of  voices 
mingled  with  the  tide,  so  he  advanced  with 
confidence. 

Kathleen  was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  ham- 
mock facing  her  mother,  who  looked  around  as 
Phil  came  in  view. 

"Here  we  are,  awake  at  last,"  she  said. 
"Where  have  you  been?  How  well  you  look! 
You  have  quite  a  flush." 

He  came  close  to  her.  "I've  been  helping 
Eliza  Brewster  bring  you  a  present,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Fabian  was  all  attention,  but  a  look  of 
resentment  spread  over  her  countenance. 

"  She  is  here  with  me,"  went  on  Phil,  low  and 
rapidly.  "It  means  a  good  deal,  you  know.  I 
hope  you  will  be  very  nice  to  her." 

Kathleen,  alertly  comprehending,  rose  from 
357 


The  Inner  Flame 

the  hammock  and  moved  past  her  mother  and 
around  to  where  Eliza  stood  by  the  steps, 
schooling  herself. 

"You  can't  get  out  of  a  barrel  what  ain't  in 
xt,"  she  reflected.  "  T  ain't  any  use  tappin'  a 
barrel  o'  vinegar  and  bein'  mad  'cause  maple 
syrup  don't  come  out." 

"You  scarcely  spoke  to  me  this  morning," 
said  Kathleen  pleasantly,  "you  were  so  glad  to 
see  Mr.  Sidney." 

Eliza  shook  hands  awkwardly.  Kathleen 
Fabian  seemed  even  to  her  prejudice  to  ring 
true.  "She  don't  inherit  vinegar,"  thought 
Eliza.  "  I  don't  know  why  I  should  n't  give  her 
the  benefit  o'  the  doubt.  Maybe  she  is  maple 
clear  through." 

Mrs.  Fabian  now  came  in  stately  fashion 
around  the  corner  into  view.  Her  eyes  caught 
sight  of  the  barrel  and  glistened.  It  was  almost 
impossible  to  believe  that  — 

"How  do  you  do,  Eliza?"  she  said,  in  melli- 
fluous tones.  "Mr.  Sidney  tells  me  you  wish  to 
see  me — " 

"Yes,  about  this  barrel,"  interrupted  Eliza, 

with  nervous  haste.    "It's  some  o'  the  things 

Mrs.  Ballard  left  me  that  I  thought  you'd 

enjoy  havin1.  It's  her  silver  and  china,  just  as 

358 


Eliza  Surrenders 

I  packed  'em  in  New  York.  I  have  n't  taken 
out  anything." 

"Why,  really,  Eliza,  do  you  know,  I  appreci- 
ate that  very  much,"  said  Mrs.  Fabian  gra- 
ciously, "and  I  shall  enjoy  them  far  more  here 
than  I  could  in  New  York.  I  — " 

"Yes,'m,"  said  Eliza,  "I've  got  to  hurry 
back  to  get  supper.  We  have  a  real  early 
tea." 

"No,  not  until  you've  come  in  and  seen 
where  Aunt  Mary's  things  are  to  be.  I  really 
could  n't  allow  you  to  go  without  sitting  down 


a  minute  to  rest." 


"No,  no,  thank  you,"  said  Eliza,  more  hur- 
riedly. 

"Perhaps  you  did  come  in  and  see  the  cot- 
tage while  it  was  being  prepared  for  us." 

"No,  ma'am,"  returned  Eliza,  arrested  in 
flight.  "I've  never  been  as  near  to  it  as  this." 

"I  wish  you  would  come  in,  then,"  said 
Kathleen.  "We  think  it's  very  pretty." 

So  Eliza  yielded,  and  Phil  followed  her  into 
the  house,  showing  her  the  views  from  the  win- 
dows, and  before  she  came  out  again  she  had 
exchanged  remarks  with  Mrs.  Fabian  on  the 
increased  price  of  lobsters  and  other  practical 
subjects. 

359 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Really  quite  human,"  commented  Mrs. 
Fabian  when  the  guest  had  departed. 

"And  how  well  she  looks,"  said  Kathleen. 

"Now,"  remarked  her  mother  complacently, 
"you  see  my  own  has  come  to  me.  I  knew 
Eliza  was  half-crazy  last  autumn.  I  just  antici- 
pate pulling  over  those  funny  old  things." 

Meanwhile  Phil  and  Eliza  were  retracing 
their  steps  across  the  field. 

"There!  that  did  n't  hurt  much,  did  it?"  he 
asked. 

"I  haven't  got  much  use  for  her,"  replied 
Eliza,  "but  I  do  believe  Kathleen  Fabian's  a 
sensible  girl." 

"Our  friend  Edgar  is  coming  to-morrow," 
remarked  Phil. 

Eliza  looked  up  at  him  shrewdly  from  be- 
neath the  shade  hat.  "Is  that  the  reason  you 
want  to  be  a  cave  man?" 

Phil  laughed.  "Perhaps  it's  one,"  he  ad- 
mitted. "He's  a  rather  —  well  —  pervasive 
person,  we'll  say.  I  need  elbow  room  to  work. 
Is  n't  this  a  great  place,  Eliza?"  The  speaker's 
eyes  swept  the  surroundings.  "You're  farther 
from  the  sea  than  the  Fabians.  You  have  a 
grand  orchard,  I  see,"  added  Phil,  laughing;  "or 
does  it  belong  to  that  little  cottage  over  there  ? " 

360 


Eliza  Surrenders 

"Where?  Oh,  you  mean  the  chicken-house?" 

"Chicken-house!  Are  the  hens  here  so  high- 
toned  they  have  to  have  windows  besides  their 
roosts?  There  are  places  out  West  where  the 
reason  for  the  cows  giving  little  milk  is  said  to 
be  because  they  become  so  enchanted  with  the 
scenery  that  they  forget  to  eat.  I  suppose  those 
hens  go  up  to  the  second  floor  to  watch  the  sun- 
set." 

Phil  looked  curiously  at  the  little  story  and  a 
half  building  guarded  by  the  balm-of-Gilead 
trees. 

"Law,  there  ain't  any  hens  there,"  replied 
Eliza.  "A  pig  wouldn't  live  there  now.  I'm 
itchin'  to  burn  it  down,  it's  so  dirty." 

"Nobody  lives  there?"  asked  Phil. 

"No,  not  since  Granny  Foster  that  it  was 
built  for.  She  scared  us  children  out  of  our  wits 
in  her  time,  and  I  s'pose  we  pestered  her,  'cause 
of  course  we  was  imps  and  could  n't  keep  away. 
We'd  rather  play  tricks  on  her  than  eat,  but 
only  a  few  got  their  courage  up  to  do  more  than 
knock  on  the  door  and  run  away.  That  door! 
My!  to  think  I  can  walk  up  to  it  and  open  it. 
It  seems  wonderful  even  now." 

"Let's  go  and  open  it,"  said  Phil,  eagerly, 
beginning  to  stride  in  that  direction. 
361 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Oh,  no,  Mr.  Philip,  keep  away.  It's  too 
dirty  and  musty  in  there  for  words.  Jennie 
quit  keepin'  hens  a  long  time  ago,  and  I  guess 
she  just  let  it  rot  away  there,  'cause  't  wa'n't 
worth  cleanin'!" 

"Oh,  but  I  want  to  see  where  little  Eliza  was 
scared,"  persisted  Phil,  hurrying  so  fast  that 
Eliza  was  obliged  to  run  after  him.  She  stood 
away  a  little,  though,  with  her  long  nose  lifted 
while  he  opened  the  door  and  his  eager  eyes 
swept  the  interior. 

"Don't  you  go  in  there,  oh,  don't,  Mr. 
Philip,"  she  said.  "  I  can  tell  you  just  what  there 
is,  a  parlor  and  a  kitchen,  and  a  rough  kind  o' 
steps  that  go  upstairs  where  there's  only  half  a 
floor.  It  would  make  a  grand  bonfire.  I  wish 
Jennie 'diet  us." 

"She  owns  it,  does  she?  The  woman  that's 
going  to  keep  your  boarding-house?" 

"Oh,  yes;  all  this  land's  hers  and  the 
orchard." 

Phil  closed  the  dingy  door  and  walked  around 
back  of  the  cottage.  Apparently,  Granny  Fos- 
ter had  liked  the  view  of  the  open  ocean,  con- 
trary to  the  taste  of  most  of  the  women  on  the 
island,  who  had  good  reason  to  dread  its  mighty 
power.  At  any  rate,  while  the  front  of  the  little 

362 


Eliza  Surrenders 

house  grew  straight  out  of  the  grass,  the  back 
had  once  boasted  a  piazza,  which  had  fallen 
away  and  capsized  in  the  field  which  ran  down 
to  the  water's  edge. 

"What  a  view  your  old  lady  had!"  said  Phil, 
standing  still  and  listening  to  the  rustling  leaves 
that  whispered  in  the  orchard. 

"'T  is  a  sightly  place,"  said  Eliza. 

The  artist  looked  with  starry  eyes  over  the 
little  cottage  again  and  then  at  his  companion. 

"It's  wonderful,"  he  said. 

"'M-h'm,"  agreed  Eliza;  "and  it '11  do  you  all 
the  good  in  the  world  if  you  can  only  stay 
here." 

Phil's  radiant  smile  beamed  upon  her. 

"Why,  I'm  going  to  stay.  Can't  you  see 
what  I'm  thinking?" 

"No,"  replied  Eliza,  staring  at  him  curiously. 

"I've  found  my  cave."  He  waved  his  hand 
toward  the  chicken-house.  "Do  you  think 
Jennie '11  let  me  have  it?" 

"Mr.  Philip!"  exclaimed  Eliza  distractedly, 
clasping  her  hard  hands  as  his  meaning  broke 
upon  her.  "There  ain't  any  use  to  talk  about  it 
even!  How  could  I  ever  clean  that  place  for 


you!" 


I  shan't  let  you  touch  it!    Hurrah!"  ex- 
363 


The  Inner  Flame 

claimed  the  artist,  turning  a  somersault  in  the 
grass  and  coming  right-side  up  so  suddenly  that 
Eliza  blinked. 

"Oh,  my  sorrows  and  cares!"  she  mourned; 
"it's  the  craziest  idea"  — 

"When,  when  did  you  say  she's  coming?" 

"To-morrow.  Dear,  dear!"  Eliza  was  half 
laughing  and  half  crying. 

"Then  I've  only  to  wait  one  night.  Oh,  it's 
too  good  to  be  true,  like  everything  else  that 
happens  to  me."  Another  flight  of  long  arms 
and  legs  accompanied  by  a  whoop  of  joy,  and 
once  more  Phil  was  right-side  up  and  catching 
Eliza  by  the  arm. 

"Let's  go  and  tell  Mrs.  Wright,"  he  ex- 
claimed, and  hurried  his  companion  toward  the 
farmhouse,  where  Mrs.  Wright  was  sitting  on 
the  rustic  bench. 

"He's  crazy,"  declared  Eliza.  "Tell  him  so. 
There  must  be  lots  o'  better  places.  That 
would  n't  smell  good  in  a  thousand  years." 

But  when  Phil  had  divulged  his  great  plan, 
Mrs.  Wright  nodded. 

"The  very  thing,"  she  said.  "I'm  sure  Jane 
will  let  you  use  it  free,  and  be  glad  to  have  it 
put  in  shape.  Then  you  can  take  as  many  or 
as  few  meals  here  as  you  like." 

364 


Eliza  Surrenders 

Her  calm,  happy  approval  closed  Eliza's  lips 
in  a  desperate  silence. 

"I  must  rush  back  to  my  hostesses,"  said 
Phil.  "Hurrah  for  us,  Eliza.  I'll  go  to  every 
boat  to  meet  Jennie." 

He  started  across  the  field  on  a  long,  swing- 
ing run. 

"Splendid  boy,"  mused  Mrs.  Wright,  aloud, 
looking  after  him. 

Eliza  had  sunk  on  the  bench,  dumb. 

"Now,  then,"  her  friend  turned  to  her;  "see 
how  you  Ve  helped  him." 

Eliza's  eyes  snapped.  "Do  you  mean  to 
say,"  she  retorted,  speaking  fast  and  defiantly, 
"that  if  I  had  n't  gone  over  to  Mrs.  Fabian's 
and  given  her  the  dishes,  he  would  n't  'a'  found 
that  chicken-house?" 

Mrs.  Wright  smiled  and  shook  her  head. 

"There's  only  one  thing  I  know,  Eliza,"  she 
said  with  deliberation,  "and  that  is  that  Love 
is  Omnipotence,  and  that  in  every  problem  we 
mortals  have  the  choice  of  looking  down  into 
error  and  discord,  or  up  into  Truth  and  Har- 
mony." 

Eliza's  breath  caught  in  her  throat,  and  she 
felt  so  strangely  stirred  that  she  rose  abruptly 
and  went  into  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXI 
THE  SINGER 

THE  combination  of  at  last  having  a  definite 
aim  in  life,  and  the  cutting  rebuke  received  in 
his  father's  library,  had  caused  Edgar  Fabian 
to  wake  up. 

On  the  hot  morning  when  he  took  the  train 
for  Portland,  he  even  looked  a  little  pale  from 
the  unwonted  vigil  of  the  night  before.  As  he 
tossed  on  his  bed  in  the  small  hours,  he  had 
fretted  at  the  heat,  but  it  was  not  temperature 
that  made  him  survey  the  causes  for  his  father's 
drastic  words;  and  he  recalled  the  emotion 
which  Kathleen  had  not  been  able  to  conceal 
with  a  sort  of  affectionate  dismay.  Kathleen 
was  a  good  sort,  after  all.  She  had  worked  for 
him,  he  knew,  and  mitigated  the  situation  so 
far  as  she  could. 

"Father  wants  to  be  shown,  does  he?"  he 
thought,  clenching  his  teeth.  "Well,  I'll  show 
him.  I  will." 

His  soul  was  still  smarting  when  he  boarded 
the  train  in  the  breathless  station  and  the 
366 


The  Singer 

porter  carried  his  suitcase  to  his  chair  in  the  day 
coach. 

A  group  of  girls  were  standing  about  the 
neighboring  seat,  but  he  did  not  regard  them. 
<Dne  of  them  observed  him,  and  for  her  the  ther- 
mometer suddenly  went  up  ten  degrees  more. 

"Hurry  girls,  you  must  go,"  she  said,  softly 
and  peremptorily,  moving  with  them  to  the 
end  of  the  car.  "How  I  wish  you  did  n't  have 
to!"  Then,  as  they  reached  the  door,  the  flushed 
one  squeezed  their  arms.  "That  was  Mr.  Fa- 
bian, girls!"  she  added. 

"Where?  Where?"  they  ejaculated,  looking 
wildly  about. 

"Back  there  in  the  very  next  chair  to  mine. 
Oh,  get  off,  dears." 

They  regarded  the  rosy  face. 

"Slyboots!"  exclaimed  Roxana. 

"Indeed,  I  knew  nothing  of  it!"  declared 
Violet. 

"Very  well."  Regina  spoke  in  hasty  exhor- 
tation. "The  sun  shines  hard  enough  for  you 
to  make  all  the  hay  there  is.  I  Ve  a  great  mind 
to  throw  a  pump  after  you!" 

The  friends  slipped  off  just  in  time,  and 
Violet  waved  them  a  laughing  adieu;  then  her 
face  sobered  while  her  eyes  shone.   She  could 
367 


The  Inner  Flame 

not  go  back  to  her  place  at  once.  The  combina- 
tion was  more  than  flesh  and  blood  could  endure 
nonchalantly:  her  work  finished,  she  starting 
for  the  island  earlier  than  she  had  hoped,  with 
the  joyful  anticipation  of  surprising  her  aunt, 
and,  instead  of  journeying  alone,  to  find  iht 
man  beside  her. 

Violet  was  extremely  indignant  with  herself 
for  calling  Edgar  the  man.  Never  one  thing  had 
he  done  to  deserve  it.  There  was  no  one  on  earth 
to  whom  in  reality  she  was  more  indifferent. 
She  allowed  conductors,  porter,  passengers, 
and  luggage  to  stumble  by  and  over  her  in  the 
narrow  passage  while  she  reflected  upon  the 
utter  uncongeniality  of  herself  and  Edgar 
Fabian;  the  gulf  fixed  between  their  lots,  their 
habits,  their  tastes.  A  man  who  was  so  arti- 
ficial that  he  could  n't  like  Brewster's  Island. 
How  could  any  girl  with  genuine  feeling  do 
more  than  politely  endure  him! 

Violet  finally,  having  been  bumped  and  trod- 
den on  until  she  realized  that  she  was  being 
scowled  at  by  all  comers,  stepped  under  the 
portiere  into  the  ladies'  room  and  looked  in  the 
glass.  The  neatest  and  trimmest  of  visions 
regarded  her. 

"I  don't  care  a  snap  how  I  look,  but  I  am 
368 


The  Singer 

dreadfully  warm,"  she  thought,  and  taking  a 
powder-puff  from  her  mesh  bag,  she  raised  her 
veil  and  cooled  her  crimson  cheeks  and  dabbed 
her  nose;  then  she  pinned  the  veil  back  closely; 
and  gave  her  bright  eyes  a  challenging  and 
warning  gaze. 

"If  you  dare!"  she  murmured,  then  moved 
out  into  the  aisle  again  and  sought  her  place. 

Edgar  had  hung  up  his  hat,  his  back  was  to 
the  car,  and  his  gloomy  eyes  gazed  out  of  the 
window.  Violet  sank  into  her  chair,  turning  its 
back  to  him.  "There!"  she  thought  sternly, 
"we  can  ride  this  way  all  day.  There's  not  the 
slightest  necessity  for  recognition." 

An  hour  passed  and  this  seemed  only  too 
true.  She  took  up  the  copy  of  "Life"  which 
Roxana  had  left  with  her,  and  looked  through 
it  with  more  grim  determination  than  is  usually 
brought  to  bear  upon  that  enlivening  sheet. 

Everything  continued  to  be  quiet  behind  her. 
She  wondered  if  Edgar  had  gone  to  sleep;  but 
what  was  it  to  her  what  he  was  doing?  She 
became  conscious  that  there  were  more  strokes 
on  the  illustrations  than  the  artists  had  in- 
tended. 

"I  must  take  off  my  veil!"  she  reflected. 

Of  course,  no  girl  can  take  off  her  veil  and  hat 
369 


The  Inner  Flame 

without  making  some  stir.  She  hoped  she 
should  not  attract  her  neighbor's  attention  by 
these  movements.  She  did  n't. 

At  last  all  was  comfortably  arranged,  and 
she  picked  up  the  periodical  which  had  been 
Regina's  offering  and  looked  at  her  chatelaine 
watch,  wondering  how  much  time  had  been 
wasted  already. 

She  never  before  heard  of  a  man  who  stayed 
in  his  seat  on  the  train  unless  he  was  an  invalid. 
One  would  think  he  would  at  least  walk  up  and 
down  once  in  a  while.  She  turned  her  chair  a 
little  away  from  the  window  and  toward  the 
aisle.  A  fat  man  who  was  her  vis-a-vis  glanced 
at  her,  and  finding  the  glance  most  satisfactory, 
looked  again,  long  enough  to  make  her  aware 
of  him.  She  swung  slowly  back  toward  the 
window,  but  not  so  far  that  she  could  not  com- 
mand movements  in  the  aisle. 

Of  course,  Mr.  Fabian  was  asleep.  He  had 
probably  been  turning  night  into  day  in  the 
festivities  which  society  events  had  recorded 
as  preceding  Mrs.  Larrabee's  departure  for 
Europe. 

The  thought  was  a  tonic.  She  loved  to  realize 
how  insignificant  and  selfish  was  the  life  this 
young  man  led;  making  him  not  worth  a  second 

370 


The  Singer 

thought  to  a  womanly  woman  who  scorned  to 
associate  with  any  man  to  whom  she  could  not 
look  up,  and  he  had  n't  shaved  off  that  blond 
pointed  mustache,  either;  how  she  despised 
mustaches. 

"Why  —  why,  Miss  Manning."  The  inter- 
ested greeting  broke  forth  directly  above  her, 
and  she  started  and  looked  up  straight  into  the 
scorned  mustache.  "How  wonderful,"  said 
Edgar.  "I  was  just  wondering  who  liked  the 
'Century'  better  upside  down  than  right-side 
up;  then  I  noticed  that  whoever  it  was  had 
pretty  hair,  so  I  looked  again  and  saw  it  was 
you." 

"I"  —  stammered  Violet,  blushing  violently 
and  dropping  the  magazine,  —  "I  think  I  was 
so  sleepy  I  did  n't  know  —  I  —  where  did  you 
spring  from?" 

"Just  now  from  the  smoking-room,  but  I'm 
here,  right  here  in  this  chair  next  to  you.  Can 
you  beat  it?  Are  you  for  the  island?" 

"Yes." 

"I,  too.  Great  that  we  should  meet.  Let  me 
turn  your  chair  around.  I  was  never  so  glad  to 
see  you." 

"Why?  Were  you  bored?"  Violet's  tone 
and  manner  of  courteous  indifference  were  so 
371 


The  Inner  Flame 

excellent  that  they  deceived  the  fat  man,  who 
regarded  the  contretemps  over  the  top  of  his 
paper  and  felt  quite  chivalrously  impatient  of 
the  "fresh  guy"  who  had  interrupted  the 
young  traveller's  meditations;  and  heartily 
commiserated  the  girl  for  the  coincidence  which 
had  made  her  the  prey  of  an  acquaintance. 

"No,  not  more  bored  than  usual,"  replied 
Edgar,  having  arranged  the  chairs  at  the  best 
angle  for  sociability,  "but  if  you  talk  to  me  I 
may  forget  how  I  want  to  smoke." 

Violet  raised  her  eyebrows.  "Oh,  I'm  to  be 
useful  and  not  ornamental,"  she  said  with  an 
icily  sweet  smile. 

"You  can't  help  being  ornamental,"  said 
Edgar,  drumming  nervously  on  the  arm  of  his 
chair.  "There,  that's  the  last  compliment  I'm 
going  to  give  you.  I  warn  you.  I'm  a  bear 
to-day.  I'm  sorry  for  you."  The  speaker  was 
pale  and  Violet  laid  both  pallor  and  nervous- 
ness to  the  door  of  the  vivacious  lady  about  to 
sail  for  foreign  shores. 

"Yes,"  she  replied,  looking  at  him  blandly.  "I 
saw  that  your  charming  friend  Mrs.Larrabee  is 
leaving." 

Edgar  looked  around  quickly.    "Yes,  she's 
leaving.  I  bade  her  good-bye  last  night." 
372 


The  Singer 

"  Is  that  why  you  wish  to  smoke  all  the  time  ?" 
asked  Violet,  with  cooing  gentleness. 

"All  the  time!  Great  Scott!  I've  had  just 
one  cigarette  since  I  got  up." 

"You  said  you  had  just  come  from  the  smok- 
ing-room." 

"Yes,  but  I  hadn't  been  in.  That's  the 
trouble.  I  'm  cutting  it  out." 

"Why?  Have  you  made  a  virtuous  vow?" 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  'm  in  no  mood  for  joking  this 
morning."  Edgar  frowned  and  twisted  his 
mustache. 

Violet  spoke  with  laughing  sweetness. 

"Nothing  is  more  easy  than  to  escape  it," 
she  said,  and  deftly  turned  her  chair  with  its 
back  to  him. 

He  seized  it  by  the  arm  and  twisted  it  around 
again. 

"No,  you  don't,"  he  said.  "Forgive  me;  you 
know  the  stereotyped  advice  to  newly  married 
couples  about  the  two  bears;  'bear  and  forbear/ 
don't  you  ?  Well,  remember  it,  please." 

"I  don't  see  the  parallel,"  said  Violet  coolly; 
"and  anyway,  is  the  advice  directed  entirely 
at  the  woman?" 

"No,  I'm  bearing  with  you  now  for  turning 
your  back  to  me,  you  who  are  going  to  teach 
373 


me  to  clog  when  we  reach  the  island."  He  gave 
her  the  smile  designed  to  melt  the  icy  heart. 

"In  consideration,"  returned  Violet,  "for  a 
continuous  ripple  of  song." 

Edgar  suddenly  looked  important,  and  gazed 
out  of  the  window.  Then  he  turned  back  to  the 
girl  who  was  regarding  him. 

"What  do  you  think  of  my  voice  —  hon- 
estly?" he  asked. 

"  I  think  it  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  I  have 
ever  heard,"  she  answered  promptly. 

He  nodded  slowly.  "I  fished  to  some  pur- 
pose, did  n't  I,"  he  said  gravely.  "Well,  since 
you  really  think  that,  and  I  Ve  always  admired 
your  sincerity,  you  may  be  interested  to  know 
that  I  have  given  up  business  in  order  to  culti- 
vate it." 

There  being  nobody  present  who  was  em- 
ployed in  Mr.  Fabian's  office,  the  dignity  of  this 
statement  was  not  impaired  by  hilarity;  and 
Violet,  greatly  impressed,  clasped  her  hands. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad,"  she  said.  "All  your 
friends  will  be  so  glad." 

Had  she  known  it,  she  might  have  added, 
"and  all  your  business  associates";  but  neither 
word  nor  look  minimized  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
moment. 

374 


The  Singer 

Enough  of  Violet's  faith  and  admiration 
shone  in  her  speaking  eyes  to  fall  like  balm  on 
Edgar's  wounded  soul.  He  began  to  heal  under 
it;  began  to  mount  into  his  wonted  atmosphere 
of  assurance. 

"  I  Ve  been  studying  ever  since  January  with 
Mazzini.  I've  kept  quiet  about  it  because, 
after  all,"  -  the  speaker  spread  his  hands  in  a 
modest  gesture,  —  "he  might  be  mistaken  in 
his  extremely  enthusiastic  estimate." 

"Oh,  no,  no!"  said  Violet  earnestly.  Edgar 
drank  more  healing  from  the  fountain  of  her 
eyes.  "What  shall  you  do?  Go  into  opera?" 

"I  don't  know  yet,"  replied  the  aspirant, 
with  the  air  of  one  who  was  holding  Mr.  Ham- 
merstein  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  uncertain 
whether  to  throw  him  over  or  to  be  gracious. 
"I'm  very  much  alone  in  this,"  he  added, 
meeting  the  girl's  gaze  with  an  air  of  confi- 
dence. "Of  course  my  father  and  mother  and 
sister  are  willing;  in  fact,  they  are  pleased  that 
I  have  undertaken  this." 

"Think  of  giving  up  smoking!"  exclaimed 
Violet.  "What  a  sacrifice  that  means  to  a  man! 
I  should  think  your  family  would  see  by  that 
how  in  earnest  you  are." 

"Yes,  they  believe  I  am  in  earnest;  but  when 

375 


The  Inner  Flame 

one  in  a  family  is  keenly  temperamental  and 
the  others  are  not,  there  are  only  certain  planes 
on  which  they  can  meet,  you  understand?" 

"  By  all  means ! "  Violet  understood  perfectly. 

"  I  have  certain  ideas  that  I  never  divulge  to 
them.  They  would  only  laugh.  What  would  it 
mean  to  them  if  I  were  to  say  that  I  had  purple 
moods  —  and  red  moods  — " 

"Probably  nothing,"  returned  Violet,  quickly 
and  with  close  attention.  "Black  and  green 
and  blue  are  the  only  common  ones." 

Edgar  looked  at  her  suspiciously.  Had  the 
fountain  of  healing  admiration  vanished,  and 
was  she  laughing  at  him?  Not  at  all.  She  was 
regarding  him  with  a  respect  and  awe  which  he 
could  not  doubt. 

"Explain  the  others  to  me.  Do  you  think 
you  could?"  she  asked. 

"I'm  afraid  not,"  he  answered  gently,  "but, 
well,  for  instance,  while  in  the  purple  mood  I 
could  never  learn  to  clog.  Does  that  mean  any- 
thing to  you?" 

"Ah,  yes,"  returned  Violet  fervently.  "I 
see.  You  would  be  too  intense." 

"Exactly.  In  the  red,  I  might.  It  would 
depend  on  which  way  it  took  me." 

His  listener  nodded  earnestly.  "Yes,  yes. 
376 


The  Singer 

A  berserk  rage  is  red.  They  always  see  red  in 
books." 

"But  so  is  a  glowing  sunset  red,"  said  Edgar. 
"The  red  of  joy.  I  see  you  understand.  Oh, 
what  rest  it  is  to  have  people  understand! " 

Violet  glowed.  Some  memory  recurred  to 
her.  "Does  Mr.  Sidney  know  about  this?" 
she  asked. 

Edgar  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "He  is  at  the 
island  with  my  people.  They  may  have  told 
him." 

The  girl's  rosy  lips  set.  "Now,"  she  won- 
dered, "would  he  chuckle  over  foolish  sketches 
of  conceited  robins!  At  all  events,  he  would 
very  soon  give  it  up." 

The  two  travellers  had  a  wonderful  day  to- 
gether, undaunted  by  heat  and  cinders. 

Edgar  gave  Violet  as  dainty  a  luncheon  as  cir- 
cumstances permitted,  and  when  they  reached 
Portland  too  late  for  the  last  boat,  he  left  her 
at  her  hotel  with  the  promise  to  call  for  her  in 
the  morning. 

The  boat  they  took  next  day  was  the  same 
one  which  bore  Miss  Jane  Foster  to  her  summer 
home;  so  when,  after  the  cooling  ride  down  the 
bay,  they  arrived  at  Brewster's  Island  and  saw 
Philip  Sidney  and  Eliza  Brewster  waiting  with 
377 


The  Inner  Flame 

Kathleen,  Edgar  pointed  Eliza  out  to  Violet 
with  amusement. 

"I  wonder  how  Sidney  enjoys  his  shadow," 
he  remarked,  "I  suppose  she's  trailing  him  all 
over  the  place." 

As  Mrs.  Wright  had  no  expectation  of  her 
niece's  early  arrival,  Eliza  looked  out  with  in- 
difference from  under  her  closely  tied  shade  hat 
at  the  fair  girl  in  neat  tailor  gown  who  stood 
by  Edgar  as  the  boat  pulled  in;  and  the  excla- 
mation of  her  companions  was  her  first  intima- 
tion that  it  was  Violet  Manning. 

Eliza  stood  quietly  amid  the  greeting  and 
laughing  and  explanations  of  the  young  people, 
and  was  introduced  to  Miss  Manning;  then  she 
caught  sight  of  Jane  Foster,  for  whose  eagerly 
expected  face  Phil  had  been  gazing  over  the 
heads  of  everybody,  notwithstanding  that  he 
had  no  idea  what  she  looked  like. 

"Better  go  home  with  the  Fabians  and  come 
to  us  later,"  she  suggested,  speaking  low  to  him. 

"Guess  again,  Eliza,"  he  returned  softly. 
Then  he  turned  to  Kathleen.  "I'll  not  inter- 
rupt your  first  tete-d-tete  with  your  brother. 
I  '11  walk  up  the  hill  with  Miss  Manning  and  see 
Mrs.  Wright's  face  when  we  appear." 

Kathleen  nodded  her  agreement,  and  when 
378 


The  Singer 

they  all  reached  the  road,  she  opened  her  eyes 
at  the  manner  in  which  her  brother  parted  from 
Violet.  Neither  spoke.  They  clasped  hands 
and  exchanged  a  look,  which  was,  to  say  the 
least,  unusual. 

"You  and  Miss  Manning  seemed  to  be  giving 
each  other  the  grip,"  she  laughed  when  the  two 
began  their  ascent  slowly.  "Do  you  belong  to 
the  same  secret  society?" 

His  reply  was  still  more  amazing.  "We 
do,"  he  answered  impressively.  "You  guessed 
right  the  very  first  time.  That  girl  has  more 
sense  in  a  minute  than  the  general  run  have  in 
years." 

"I  always  liked  her,"  returned  Kathleen, 
wondering. 

As  for  Philip,  he  carried  Violet's  suitcase  and 
Miss  Foster's  bag  and  received  the  jubilant 
chatter  of  the  young  girl  with  appreciative 
assent,  casting  sheep's  eyes  all  the  way  up  the 
hill  at  the  modest  owner  of  the  chicken-house, 
who  little  suspected  that  the  big  handsome 
young  man  who  was  carrying  her  bag  cared 
more  to  get  one  monosyllable  from  her  than 
for  all  the  pleasant  things  this  pretty  girl  might 
say  to  him. 

Mrs.  Wright,  busy  taking  Eliza's  place  in  the 

379 


The  Inner  Flame 

preparations  for  the  early  dinner,  was  not 
watching  for  the  arrival,  and  the  first  warning 
she  had  of  Violet's  presence  was  two  vigorous 
arms  being  thrown  around  her  neck. 

Her  first  impression  was  that  Jane  Foster 
had  an  attack  of  emotional  insanity,  but  in  a 
moment  she  was  returning  the  embrace. 

"My  little  girl,  what  does  this  mean?"  she 
cried  joyously.  "Not  a  flower  in  your  room. 
Nothing  ready." 

"Yes,  dinner  is.  I  can  smell  it.  Oh,  Aunt 
Amy,  you  and  vacation,  and  no  city  and  no 
heat,  and  the  divine  island  smell,  and  twenty- 
four  hours  in  the  day,  and  seven  days  in  the 
week.  Oh,  it's  too  much  happiness!"  And 
Violet  danced  back  into  the  living-room  straight 
into  the  arms  of  Mr.  Wright,  who  had  just  been 
washing  his  hands  for  dinner. 

"Right  you  are,  Violet.  No  place  like  the 
island,"  he  said  heartily,  while  Eliza  and  Jane 
Foster  regarded  the  newcomer  with  calm  won- 
der. How  could  they  know  the  glamour  that 
was  gilding  all? 

Phil  was  so  preoccupied,  he  scarcely  noticed 
the  girl's  antics.  His  eyes  were  fixed  with  the 
most  lover-like  eagerness  on  Jane  Foster's  seri- 
ous countenance. 

380 


The  Singer 

"Had  you  better  ask  her  or  I,  Eliza?"  he 
murmured,  under  cover  of  Violet's  laughter. 

"You'd  better  not  trust  me,"  replied  Eliza 
darkly,  upon  which  Phil  interrupted  Miss 
Foster  as  she  was  starting  for  the  stairs. 

"Might  I  speak  to  you  one  moment  before 
you  go  up?"  he  asked. 

Her  calm  eyes  turned  to  him.  "You  want 
board?"  she  asked. 

"No  —  not  exactly.  Would  you  mind  com- 
ing outside  a  minute.  I  'd  like  to  see  you  alone." 

Jane  Foster  looked  into  the  brilliant  face, 
wondering;  then  she  followed  him  outside  the 
door.  Perhaps  he  wanted  to  buy  the  farmhouse. 
She  had  made  some  calculation  before  she 
reached  the  rustic  bench;  but  his  first  words 
dashed  her  expectations. 

"Miss  Foster,  I'm  an  artist  and  like  them 
all,  at  first,  I  have  n't  any  money.  I  Ve  been 
wondering  if  you  'd  let  me  camp  down  in  your 
chicken-house  and  do  some  work.  What  rent 
would  you  want?" 

Jane  Foster  regarded  him  calmly.  '  "T  ain't 
habitable,"  she  said. 

"I'll  make  it  so,"  he  returned  forcefully. 

"I  can't  imagine—"  she  began  slowly. 

don't  have  to,"  he  interrupted  ar- 
381 


The  Inner  Flame 

dently.  "Imagining  is  my  business."  He 
beamed  upon  her  with  a  smile  that  warmed  her 
through  and  through  from  the  chill  of  the  boat. 
"If  you  haven't  any  other  use  for  it  just 
now  —  " 

"Oh,  't  ain't  any  use,"  she  said  slowly. 

"Then  I  may?"  Phil  embarrassed  Miss 
Foster  terribly  by  seizing  her  hand. 

Violet  observed  them  from  a  window.  "Is 
Mr.  Sidney  proposing  to  Miss  Foster?"  she 
laughed,  turning  to  Eliza. 

"Yes,  he  is,  exactly,"  returned  the  latter, 
hanging  up  her  shade  hat. 

"Well,  I  can't  imagine  anyone  refusing  him," 
said  Violet. 

"I  only  hope  she  will,"  muttered  Eliza;  but 
the  devout  words  were  scarcely  out  of  her  lips 
when  Phil  came  into  the  room  like  a  cyclone 
and  she  was  seized  and  swung  up  till  her 
respectable  head  nearly  grazed  the  ceiling. 

"It's  mine,"  he  cried.  "Hurray!"  and  went 
out  of  the  house  again  and  across  the  field 
toward  the  boulder  cottage. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  NEW  STUDIO 

IN  spite  of  the  incense  Edgar  had  been  receiv- 
ing, he  was  still  a  somewhat  chastened  being; 
and  he  had  no  disagreeable  remarks  to  make 
about  Phil  when  Mrs.  Fabian  wondered  why  he 
stayed  so  long  at  the  Wright  cottage.  He  ob- 
jected to  the  fact  somewhat  on  his  own  account. 
No  doubt  Violet  was  entertaining  Philip.  She 
had  the  artistic  soul  and  Phil  was  horribly  good- 
looking.  It  was  a  soothing  thought  that  he  was 
practically  penniless  and  that  he  must  soon 
return  to  his  labors  in  New  York. 

"How  long  are  you  expecting  Phil  to  stay 
here?"  he  asked  his  mother  after  a  glance  or 
two  across  the  empty  field. 

"He  says  only  a  week,"  replied  Mrs.  Fabian, 
"but  I  hope  to  make  it  at  least  two.  He's  daft 
about  the  island." 

'  "But  he  could  n't  work  here,"  said  Edgar 
with  conviction.  "You've  no  place  for  oil  and 
turpentine  and  splotches  generally." 

"That's  what  he  says,"  sighed  Mrs.  Fabian. 
383 


The  Inner  Flame 

"I  told  him  this  morning  we'd  give  up  the 
summer-house  to  him." 

Edgar  faced  her.  "Where  do  I  come  in?"  he 
asked.  "I  expect  the  summer-house  to  save 
your  lives  from  me.  I  don't  believe  we  can  have 
two  artists  in  the  family." 

Kathleen  caught  the  last  words  as  she  came 
downstairs.  "Don't  worry,"  she  said  lightly. 
"Phil  will  have  none  of  us.  He  wants  either  a 
ten-acre  lot  or  a  stable." 

"Well,  where  is  he?"  asked  Edgar,  with  some 
irritation.  "I'm  as  hungry  as  a  hunter." 

"And  we  have  Aunt  Mary's  pretty  things. 
Eliza  gave  them  to  mother." 

"You  don't  say  so!  Well,  the  Angel  of  Peace 
has  moulted  a  feather  on  this  island.  There,  I 
see  Phil  now,  loping  across  the  field.  Do  order 
dinner  to  be  served,  mother." 

The  music-box  was  playing  when  the  guest 
entered. 

"Oh,  am  I  late?"  he  cried  contritely,  and 
took  the  stairs  in  three  bounds. 

"How  burned  he  is  already!"  laughed  Mrs. 
Fabian.  "You  will  be  looking  like  that  in  a  few 
days,  Edgar." 

The  latter  was  standing,  high-chested  and 
with  repressed  impatience,  in  an  attitude  his 

384 


The  New  Studio 

mother  knew.  He  had  not  at  all  liked  the  radi- 
ance of  Phil's  countenance  as  the  latter  burst 
into  the  room. 

"This  dinner  is  especially  ordered  for  you, 
dear,"  said  Mrs.  Fabian  soothingly,  "from  the 
clam  soup  to  the  strawberry  shortcake." 

"When  am  I  going  to  have  any  of  it?"  in- 
quired Edgar.  "  Is  it  worth  while  to  be  formal 
here?" 

"Oh,  he'll  be  down  in  one  minute,"  said 
Kathleen ;  and  indeed  Philip  soon  appeared  and 
they  all  seated  themselves. 

"Last  offence,  really,"  said  the  guest  gaily, 
"but  one  must  be  granted  a  little  extra  license 
when  he's  proposing." 

The  waitress  had  placed  the  filled  soup-plates 
before  the  family  sat  down ;  and  Edgar  promptly 
choked  on  his  first  mouthful.  Violet  had  told 
him  of  meeting  Phil  in  Gramercy  Park.  Where 
else  and  how  often  had  the  perfidious  girl  been 
with  him? 

Kathleen  swallowed  her  spoonful  of  soup,  but 
it  was  not  hot  enough  to  account  for  the  strange 
burning  heat  which  suddenly  travelled  down  her 
spine. 

Mrs.  Fabian  alone  looked  up.  "Don't  take 
our  breath  away  like  that,"  she  protested. 
385 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Who  is  the  woman?  Violet  Manning  or  Eliza 
Brewster?" 

"I  dreamed  of  her  all  last  night,"  returned 
Phil,  eating  hungrily.  "I  knew  she  was  coming, 
and  I  could  hardly  wait  to  learn  my  fate. 
Did  n't  you  notice  that  I  merely  played  with 
my  breakfast  this  morning?" 

"You  ate  like  a  hunter.  Did  n't  he,  Kath- 
leen?" 

Phil  laughed  and  raised  his  happy  eyes  to  his 
hostess. 

"Well,  you'd  save  a  whole  lot  of  dinner  this 
noon,  only  that  she  said  'Yes."; 

There  was  a  miniature  storm  of  hurt  vanity 
in  Edgar  Fabian's  breast.  That  was  the  way 
with  these  "lookers."  Let  them  have  scarce  the 
price  of  a  laundry  bill,  yet  a  girl  could  n't  resist 
them;  and  that  gaze  of  almost  awed  admiration 
in  Violet's  eyes  yesterday.  It  had  meant  no- 
thing then  but  a  tribute  to  genius.  Phil  should 
not  have  that  look  at  his  table  daily!  Edgar 
would  n't  stand  it.  He  would  match  his  singing 
against  the  other's  painting,  and  time  would 
show  if  Philip  Sidney  would  have  a  walk-away. 
She  could  n't  be  happy  with  a  pauper  like  that, 
and  she  should  be  saved. 

As  for  Kathleen,  she  could  not  stop  to  criti- 
386 


The  New  Studio 

cize  Philip's  blunt  announcement.  Whether  he 
were  jesting  or  in  earnest  his  sudden  words  had 
flashed  an  awful  light  upon  her  own  sentiments. 

"There's  no  depth  to  it,"  she  thought  now  in 
defence  of  her  pain.  "I  know  in  time." 

"Tell  us  more  this  minute,"  said  Mrs.  Fa- 
bian, "and  stop  eating,  you  unromantic  crea- 
ture !  I  did  n't  even  suspect  that  you  knew 
Violet  Manning  well.  You  sly-boots.  I  'm  of- 
fended with  you." 

"The  lovely  Violet!"  exclaimed  Phil,  "I  left 
her  having  an  attack  of  emotional  insanity  over 
there." 

He  looked  up  and  met  a  gaze  from  Edgar, 
suggestive  of  locking  horns;  and  remembered 
Gramercy  Park,  and  Violet's  sudden  dignity. 

"But  not  on  my  account,"  he  went  on  easily. 
"My  inamorata's  name  is  Jane!"  He  cast  his 
eyes  adoringly  ceilingward.  "Dear  little  name! 
Quaint  little  name!  Jane!" 

The  relaxation  that  travelled  throughout 
Kathleen's  limbs  was  as  painful  and  as  exasper- 
ating as  the  burn  had  been.  Her  eyes  were  fixed 
on  her  soup-plate,  and  she  smiled. 

Edgar's  teeth  shone  with  the  utmost  glee. 
Phil  was  n't  such  a  bad  sort  after  all.  He  re- 
garded him  with  interest,  waiting  for  the  sequel. 
387 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Philip  Sidney,  don't  be  idiotic,"  said  Mrs. 
Fabian.  "My  soup  is  getting  cold  waiting  for 
you  to  explain  yourself." 

"Why,  Jane  Foster  came  this  morning,  mo- 
ther," said  Kathleen.  "I'll  help  you  out." 

"And  I  can  really  only  stay  with  you  a  week, 
Aunt  Isabel,"  added  Phil. 

"She  has  taken  you  for  a  boarder?  And  all 
this  fuss  is  about  that?"  asked  Mrs.  Fabian. 
"I  should  scarcely  have  thought  you'd  be  so 
crazy  to  change  my  house  for  hers." 

"  I  know  how  Phil  feels,"  said  Edgar  benevo- 
lently. "He  wants  to  feel  free  to  make  smudges." 

"I  do,  Edgar,  mind-reader  that  you  are.  Lis- 
ten, then,  all  of  you.  I  proposed  to  Jane  that  she 
let  me  use  her  chicken-house,  and  Jane,  bless- 
ings on  her,  said  the  one  little  word  to  make  me 
a  happy  man." 

Phil's  radiant  gaze  was  bent  now  upon  Kath- 
leen, who  met  it  and  nodded.  "Just  the 
thing!"  she  said,  and  her  mother  and  brother 
started  in  on  a  Babel  of  tongues.  Mrs.  Fabian 
had  forgotten  the  chicken-house.  She  had  not 
been  in  that  field  for  years;  but  Edgar  approved, 
and  altogether  they  joined  in  Phil's  jubilation, 
and  Mrs.  Fabian  related  how  she  had  prepared 
Pat  to  pack  for  just  such  an  exigency. 

388 


The  New  Studio 

"The  little  house  is  awfully  dilapidated," 
said  Kathleen.  "Its  piazza,  has  fallen  off;  and 
I'm  sure  it  leaks.  But  perhaps  you  can  make  it 
fit  to  hold  your  paraphernalia." 

"Aunt  Isabel,  I  want  you  and  Kathleen  to 
keep  away  until  I'm  in  order,"  said  Phil  im- 
pressively. "You'd  try  to  discourage  me  and 
that  would  waste  your  time.  Eliza  is  almost  in 
tears,  but  I  know  what  I  want  and  what  I  can 
do." 

"A  chicken-house!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Fa- 
bian, with  second  thoughts  of  disgust. 

"Yes,  nobody  can  come  near  but  Edgar;  and 
if  he  does,  he'll  have  to  scrub." 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  and  the  young 
man  raised  his  eyebrows :  "  I  have  my  own  work 
to  do,  you  may  remember."  Scrubbing  chicken- 
houses  he  thought  might  even  eclipse  the 
memory  of  lighting  the  oil-stove. 

"Of  course,"  returned  Phil,  all  attention. 
"I'm  extremely  interested  in  this  determina- 
tion of  yours.  You  certainly  have  the  goods." 

"So  they  tell  me,"  said  Edgar,  and  twisted 
his  mustache. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  for  furniture?" 
asked  Mrs.  Fabian.   "You  must  at  least  have 
some  chairs  and  a  table." 
389 


The  Inner  Flame 

"And  a  lounge!"  cried  Phfl,  —  "and  an  oil- 
stove."  He  laughed  toward  Edgar.  "I'm  going 
to  live  there,  best  of  aunts,  and  maybe  take  my 
dinners  with  Jane,  the  star  of  my  existence!" 

"Phfl,  you're  crazy,"  said  Mrs.  Fabian,  de- 
spairing. "You  will  continue  to  live  here  and 
work  over  there." 

He  shook  his  head  gaily.  "Don't  worry.  Just 
watch;  and  if  you  have  any  attic  treasures  in  the 
way  of  furniture,  let  me  store  them  for  you." 

When  Mrs.  Fabian  really  understood  the  en- 
terprise Phil  was  embarking  upon,  she  resigned 
herself,  and  finding  an  old  suit  of  Mr.  Fabian's 
which  he  had  used  for  fishing,  she  bestowed  it 
upon  her  guest. 

Then  the  work  commenced.  FJira  tried  with 
a  lofty  sense  of  devotion  to  lend  a  hand  and 
even  besought  the  privilege;  but  she  was  re- 
pulsed. Philip  induced  Captain  James  to  take 
an  interest  in  his  scheme  and  render  him  assist- 
ance at  certain  epochs  in  the  reconstruction 
period,  but  the  Captain  and  Jane  Foster  were 
the  only  persons  privileged  to  come  near  the 
scene  of  operations;  and  Miss  Foster's  heart  so 
far  went  oat  to  her  strong,  determined  young 
tenant  that  she  began  hunting  in  her  own  garret 
for  things  to  help  him  along. 

390 


TkeNcwStudio 

With  shovel  and  wheelbarrow,  scrubbing- 
brushes,  soapsuds,  disinfectants,  hammer  and 
nails,  Phfl  went  to  work 

Eliza  stood  on  her  boundary  line,  her  hands 
on  her  hips,  and  watched,  her  long  nose  lifted, 
while  loads  of  refuse  and  debris  were  patiently 

wheeled  down  to  the  edge  of  the  bank  and  given 
over  to  the  cleansing  tide. 

Violet  generously  offered  her  window  which 
gave  upon  the  scene  of  operations,  and  the 
opera-glass  with  which  she  watched  birds;  but 
Eliza  declined. 

"I  won't  spy  on  him,"  she  said,  adding  vin- 
dictively, "but  111  look  —  the  obstinate  boy!" 

The  first  time  Kathleen  called,  Violet  took 
her  up  to  her  room  and  they  sat  in  the  open 
window. 

"The  opera-glass  is  scarcely  any  use,"  she 
explained,  "for  he  has  n't  washed  the  windows 
yet  and  you  can't  see  in  at  alL" 

KatHeen  laughed,  but  shrank  back.  "I  don't 
want  him  to  think  we're  watching,"  she  replied. 

"Oh,  he  knows  we  all  are;  but  even  after  he 
has  gone  at  night,  we  don't  dare  to  go  and  look 
in.  We  can't  pass  that  rock  there  —  not  even 
Eliza." 

A  charming  tenor  voice  suddenly  sounded  on 

391 


the  air,  singing  an  aria  from  ^LaBoheme."  The 
girls  looked  and  saw  Edgar  advancing  toward 
the  chicken-house,  peering  in  curiously. 

Suddenly,  Phfl,  attired  in  a  sweater  and  Mr. 
Fabian's  trousers  winch  scarcely  reached  his 
ankles,  dashed  out  at  the  caller  and  pressed  a 
scrubbing-brush  on  his 


denly  stopped  his  lay  and  ran,  laughing,  toward 
Mrs.  Wright's,  where  he  found  the  girfc  and 
took  them  out  on  the  water. 

"I  should  think  you'd  want  to  hdp  him," 


"I  do,"  replied  Edgar,  "but  I  restrain  my- 
self. Phfl  does  n't  want  me,  reaDy,"  he  added; 
and  be  was  certainly  right.  Phil  had  no  time  to 
stumble  over  Marceflines. 

A  week  passed.  Jane  Foster  had  been  smiling 
and  important  lor  the  last  few  days,  but  not 
for  kingdoms  would  Efiza  have  questioned  her. 
She  had  acquired  an  air  of  calm  indifference, 
which  belied  the  burning  curiosity  within. 
When  Phfl  stopped  in  passing  to  speak  with  her, 
she  talked  of  the  weather.  Mrs,  Wright,  on  the 
eipieued  her  eagerness  to  see  what 


was  going  on  so  near  and  yet  so  far  from 

TTI- 

Pluto  gets  ahead  of  us,"  she  said,  "and 


The  New  Studio 

you've  trained  him  so  wefl  he  never  tells  any- 
thing." 

Edgar  happened  to  be  present  and  he 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Better  hunyup,  PhD," 
he  remarked,  "and  have  your  opening  before 
interest  wanes.  You  11  have  an  anti-climax  the 
first  thing  you  know." 

Mrs.  Wright  turned  the  gentle  radiance  of 
her  eyes  on  the  speaker. 

"We  heard  you  last  night,  singing  as  you 
went  home,  Mr.  Fabian,"  she  said:  "that 
lovely  voice  floating  across  the  field  win  make 
us  famous.  People  wifl  hear  it  and  wonder  about 
the  source,  and  begin  to  talk  of  the  angel  of 
Brewster's  Island." 

"Wonderfully  level-headed  people,  those 
Wrights,"  soliloquized  Edgar,  as  he  sauntered 
home.  "A  distinct  acquisition  to  the  island." 
Some  thought  occurred  to  him.  "I  wish  father 
could  have  heard  that,"  he  mused. 

Phil  lingered  behind  him.  He  had  changed 
into  his  own  clothes  remarkably  early  this  after- 
noon. There  was  an  hour  yet  before  supper- 
time. 

"Where  are  the  rest  of  your  family  this  after- 
noon?" he  asked. 

"Violet  went  with  Kathleen  into  the  woods  to 

393 


get  some  specimens  she  wants  for  her  micro- 
scope," replied  Mrs.  Wright. 

"Where's  Eliza?"  Phil  smiled  as  he  asked  it, 
and  his  companion  smiled  in  answer. 

"In  her  room,  I  think." 

Phil  raised  his  eyebrows  interrogatively. 

"Yes,  I  think  so,  a  little,"  she  replied  softly, 
nodding.  "You  see  Jane  has  been  there  every 
day." 

"But  that's  all  the  rent  I  pay,"  protested 
Phil,  all  very  quietly,  for  though  they  were 
standing  outdoors,  the  windows  were  open. 

"Yes,  but  —  it's  a  good  deal  for  flesh  and 
blood  to  bear,"  said  Mrs.  Wright  with  a  twink- 
ling glance.  "The  green-eyed  monster  ramps 
at  the  best  of  us,  you  know." 

"I  wonder  if  I  could  see  Eliza,"  said  Phil  in 
his  natural  voice. 

"Yes,  I  think  she's  in  her  room,"  returned 
Mrs.  Wright.  "I'll  go  and  see." 

She  disappeared,  and  Phil's  eyes  roved  to 
the  boulder  cottage  and  fixed  there.  A  smile 
touched  the  corners  of  his  lips.  He  had  not 
meant  to  carry  prohibition  too  far  with  Eliza. 
It  was  genuine  desire  to  save  her  trouble  as  well 
as  the  wish  to  surprise  her  after  her  vehement 
opposition  to  his  scheme,  which  had  made  him 

394 


The  New  Studio 

warn  her  away.  Now  he  was  eager  to  make  it 
right  with  her. 

"I  remember  now,"  said  Mrs.  Wright,  re- 
turning; "Eliza  went  down  the  hill  this  after- 
noon, I  don't  know  just  when  she'll  come  back; 
but  won't  you  sit  down  and  wait  for  her?" 

"Thank  you,  I  don't  believe  I  will  111  come 
back  later.  I've  been  a  runaway  guest  all  this 
week,"  and  with  a  smile  of  farewell,  an  eager 
look  grew  in  Phil's  eyes  as  he  started  to  run 
across  the  field  toward  home. 

In  all  his  arrangements,  each  time  he  had 
gained  an  effect  he  had  thought  of  Kathleen's 
amusement  and  appreciation. 

As  soon  as  he  found  that  Eliza  was  out  of  the 
question,  his  eagerness  burst  forth  to  get  the 
girls'  point  of  view.  He  met  Violet  Manning 
returning  from  the  woods  escorted  by  Edgar. 

"I  open  the  studio  fcwnonow,"  he  cried 
gaily.  "Will  you  come  to  my  tea  at  three- 
thirty?" 

"Will  we!"  exclaimed  Violet.  "We  could  n't 
have  lasted  much  longer!  I'm  glad  you  let  us 
see  it  'before'  so  we  can  fully  appreciate  it 
'after.'" 

Violet  was  looking  pretty  and  very  happy. 
Phil  considered  for  one  moment  whether  he 
395 


The  Inner  Flame 

should  ask  her  to  pour.  Even  yet  he  felt  that 
Kathleen  lived  in  a  remote  rarefied  air  of  ele- 
gance. Would  one  dare  ask  her  to  dispense  tea 
in  a  chicken-house?  But  he  wisely  kept  silence. 
Aunt  Isabel  might  yet  enter  into  what  she  con- 
tinued to  term  his  foolishness. 

With  a  wave  of  his  hand,  he  fled  on  his  way, 
and  found  Kathleen,  flushed  from  her  walk, 
carrying  mosses  to  the  table  in  the  wind-break. 

"I've  finished,"  he  cried,  vaulting  over  the 
railing  and  appearing  beside  her.  "Want  to  see 
it?" 

She  looked  up  into  his  expectant  eyes. 

"Are  we  invited?"  she  returned. 

"To-morrow,  everybody  is;  but  I  thought 
I  'd  like  you  to  see  it  right  now  —  if  you  are  n't 
too  tired." 

" A'private  view ! "  she  exclaimed.  "Who  was 
ever  too  tired  for  that?  But  I'm  of  the  earth 
so  earthy,  I  shall  have  to  go  in  and  wash  my 
hands." 

"No,  no,  don't,"  replied  Phil  softly.  "You'd 
meet  Aunt  Isabel,  and  this  is  to  be  clandes- 
tine. Wipe  your  hands  on  this,"  —  he  pulled 
his  handkerchief  out  of  his  pocket,  —  "and 


come." 


Kathleen  laughed  and  brushing  her  fingers 
396 


The  New  Studio 

free  of  traces  of  the  treasured  moss,  she  wiped 
them  and  they  started  across  the  field. 

"Here's  hoping  Violet  and  Edgar  don't  see 
us,"  said  Phil,  and  took  the  path  he  had  trod- 
den so  often  straight  to  the  hen-house,  and 
which  did  not  pass  very  near  the  Wrights. 

As  they  approached,  Kathleen  looked  curi- 
ously at  the  little  cottage  with  its  sloping  red 
roof,  nestling  close  to  the  ground  on  the  breast 
of  the  hill  and  sheltered  by  the  tall  Balm-of- 
Gilead  trees.  Their  rustling  leaves  held  always 
a  murmur  as  of  rain  and  to-day  fleecy  white 
clouds  piled  against  the  blue  sky  behind  the 
cottage. 

As  they  drew  near,  Kathleen  stopped  and 
clasped  her  hands,  and  laughter  bubbled  from 
her  lips. 

"That's  clever!"  she  exclaimed  heartily,  and 
Phil's  eyes  danced  as  she  met  them. 

A  swinging  sign  had  been  hung  above  the  low 
door.  Upon  it  strutted  a  splendid  cock  and 
above  his  proudly  lifted  comb  appeared  the 
legend:  — 

VILLA  CHANTECLER. 

Phil  threw  open  the  low  door  with  a  sweeping 
bow;  and  Kathleen  paused  on  the  threshold 
397 


The  Inner  Flame 

with  a  low  cry  of  surprise;  then  stepped  into  the 
cool,  dusky  interior. 

She  found  herself  in  a  low-ceiled  room  with 
small-paned  windows  set  high.  A  golden  radi- 
ance streamed  through,  falling  on  the  soft  tone 
of  floor  and  walls. 

On  a  table  draped  with  dull  green  a  tall 
candlestick  and  ivory-tinted  plate  reflected 
gleams  of  light. 

Kathleen  sank  on  the  cushions  of  a  long,  low 
divan. 

"You  can  paint  Rembrandt  portraits  in 
here!"  she  said.  "Don't  explain  how  you've 
done  it.  I  don't  want  to  know.  It  is  the  most 
restful,  delightful  studio  I  Ve  ever  seen  —  and 
smelling  of  ambergris?" 

"No,  only  of  bay  leaves." 

Phil  waited  and  let  her  look  at  the  hangings, 
the  cushioned  chairs,  and  spindle  legs  of  the 
quaint  table. 

"You  like  it,"  he  said  after  a  pause  of  deep 
satisfaction. 

She  looked  up  at  him.  "  I  am  making  genu- 
flexions to  you  in  my  mind." 

He  laughed.  "But  the  best  is  yet  to  come.  Sit 
where  you  are." 

He  moved  to  the  back  of  the  room  and  opened 
398 


The  New  Studio 

a  door  toward  the  ocean.  It  was  as  if  a  brilliant 
panel  had  suddenly  been  set  in  the  dark  wall. 

Kathleen  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"Like  enamel!"  she  said  softly,  and  ap- 
proached the  opening. 

It  led  upon  a  terrace  with  a  white  railing. 
Tall  white  pillars  at  either  end  were  crowned 
with  dark-green  bay. 

"Is  it  a  stage-setting,"  she  said,  "or  is  it 
practicable?" 

"Come  out  and  see." 

Together  they  moved  outside  and  the  wind 
came  up  out  of  the  sea  across  the  sleeping  field 
and  swept  their  faces  and  set  the  young  leaves 
of  the  orchard  to  whispering  with  sweet  fresh 
lips  to  their  gnarled  stems. 

Kathleen  looked  up  at  her  companion,  smiled 
and  shook  her  head. 

"You  have  added  poetry  to  our  island,"  she 
said.  "I  did  n't  think  any  one  could  do  that." 

Phil  met  her  gaze. 

"And  you,"  he  said,  "have  put  the  finishing 
touch  to  my  satisfaction." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
PHILIP'S  LETTER 

DEAREST  MOTHER:  —  You  remember  I  told 
you  I  had  found  a  pig's  ear  and  was  going  to 
make  a  silk  purse  out  of  it  despite  the  scepti- 
cism of  the  neighborhood.  Behold  the  purse!  I 
call  it  the  Villa  Chantecler.  It  has  taken  me 
the  whole  week,  but  the  result  —  well,  Kath- 
leen says  I  have  added  poetry  to  the  island,  and 
I  suspect  she  is  authority  on  poetry,  although 
that  too  is  hidden  in  one  of  the  locked  rooms 
I've  told  you  about.  She  gives  just  enough  of 
herself  to  each  person  to  fit  every  occasion;  but 
the  way  she  took  the  first  view  of  the  Villa  yes- 
terday was  like  everything  else  she  does ;  perfec- 
tion. I  did  n't  know  I  was  going  to  write  that. 
I  did  n't  know  I  thought  it.  That's  the  beauty 
of  having  some  one  to  whom  you  can  think 
aloud.  You  find  out  what  you  do  think;  but  she 
and  I  touch  only  on  the  high  places  and  when 
we  leave  the  island  we  shall  fly  apart  for  the 
whole  winter  again;  with  pleasant  memories, 
however.  She  has  a  positive  talent  for  letting 
people  alone.  I  love  such  people ! 
400 


Philip's  Letter 

Now,  to  tell  you  how  I  did  my  little  trick. 
I  could  never  have  done  it  but  for  New  Eng- 
land tenacity  and  thrift.  They  never"  throw 
anything  away  in  this  part  of  the  world;  and 
even  importations  like  Aunt  Isabel  collect 
some  lumber-room  outcasts  rather  than  in- 
jure the  scenery  by  throwing  them  over  the 
bank. 

Jane  Foster,  adorable  landlady  and  Lady 
Bountiful  that  she  is,  turned  me  loose  in  her 
attic,  and  told  me  to  help  myself.  So,  first  of  all, 
I  made  the  hen-house  shine  with  cleanliness. 
Then  Cap'n  James  helped  me  drag  up  its  de- 
jected piazza  which  had  capsized  in  the  neigh- 
boring field.  We  nailed  it  to  the  house  and 
painted  it  white. 

Aunt  Isabel  had  discarded  a  Crex  rug,  which 
I  took  for  my  studio,  also  a  three-legged  divan 
and  chairs  whose  cane  seats  had  surrendered. 
These  I  mended  and  cushioned.  In  Miss  Fos- 
ter's attic,  I  found  what  I  should  think  were  all 
the  potato  sacks  that  had  ever  been  used  in  the 
Foster  family.  These  made  my  hangings  and 
cushions,  although  the  poverty  they  implied 
nearly  reduced  Jane  to  tears.  She  implored  me 
to  use  turkey  red  and  found  enough  in  the  attic 
to  begin  on.  The  stuff  smelled  so  new,  I'm 
401 


The  Inner  Flame 

nearly  certain  the  dear  woman  bought  it  and 
placed  it  there. 

I  found  an  old  spinet  under  the  eaves.  Its 
voice  had  long  departed;  but  its  charming  legs 
and  framework  were  intact.  I  placed  some 
boards  across  that  and  used  my  green  bathrobe 
for  a  cover.  I  took  a  straight  length  of  pipe, 
fixed  it  into  a  wooden  stand,  topped  it  with  a 
spool,  bronzed  the  whole  thing,  and  behold,  a 
stunning  candlestick  in  which  stands  a  tall  wax 
candle. 

Among  the  refuse  I  had  carried  out  of  the 
place,  I  had  found  charming  old  plates,  heavy  as 
lead,  crackled  with  age,  and  cream  and  gray  in 
color.  These  I  disposed  variously,  and  I  am  per- 
fectly sure  Cap'n  James  and  Jane  Foster  have 
laid  their  heads  together  in  order  to  condole 
over  the  fact  that  so  pleasant  a  young  man 
should  have  so  gloomy  and  unpicturesque  a 
taste  when  he  expects  to  get  his  living  by  that 
same  lame  faculty.  In  fact,  Cap'n  James  un- 
burdened his  mind  one  day.  He  said :  — 

"Ain't  you  goin'  to  have  anything  cheerful 
'round  here?  It  looks  to  me  more  fit  for  hens 
than  it  does  for  folks  right  now." 

Under  the  house  I  found  lengths  of  drain- 
pipe. These  I  used  on  my  terrace  at  the  back 
402 


Philip's  Letter 

of  the  Villa,  overlooking  the  sea.  When  I  had 
placed  these  pillars  at  each  end  of  the  railing 
and  crowned  them  with  the  polished  bay  that 
grows  luxuriantly  here,  I  had  a  quite  Italian 
effect,  I  assure  you. 

Jane  looks  at  me  with  pitiful  eyes,  and  yes- 
terday came  down  to  the  Villa  with  a  framed 
chromo  from  her  parlor  wall. 

"I  just  as  lieves  you'd  use  it  as  not,"  she 
said,  "and  anyway  you  might  put  it  up  till  the 
folks  have  seen  the  place.  Your  own  paintin's 
can  go  up  later."  I  almost  kissed  her,  she  pitied 
me  so,  and  I  could  see  that  she  agreed  with 
Cap'n  James,  who  said  the  place  gave  him  the 
"Injun  blues." 

There  is  a  rough  stairway  that  leads  to  the 
half-floored  room  above.  I  took  a  drain-pipe  to 
make  a  newel  post  for  that.  It  is  surmounted 
with  a  bronze  Mercury  on  a  pedestal.  The 
pedestal  is  a  small,  rusty  tin  wash-basin  that  I 
found  under  the  house.  I  covered  it  with  var- 
nish and  rolled  it  in  sand,  inverted  it,  and  be 
hold!  I  also  gave  an  appearance  of  advanced 
age  to  the  Mercury;  so  the  general  appearance 
is  as  of  a  treasure  from  Pompeii. 

If  only  you  and  father  could  see  and  feel  the 
beauty  and  the  heavenly  quiet  of  the  place.  I 
403 


The  Inner  Flame 

have  a  kitchen,  too.  The  door  was  a  wreck,  and 
I  tacked  upon  it  a  dark  ornate  window  shade 
which  tones  in  with  all  the  rest. 

Sometimes  I  feel  as  if  I  were  only  living  to  see 
you  again.  I  know  it 's  what  I  'm  working  for 
anyway;  and  I  well  know  that  you  are  work- 
ing for  me  every  day  of  your  dear  life. 

I  love  you. 

PHIL. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

PHILIP   ENTERTAINS 

PHILIP  still  had  Eliza  on  his  mind,  so  when 
Kathleen  had  left  him,  he  went  back  to  the 
farmhouse  and  had  the  good  fortune  to  meet 
Eliza  returning  home. 

"Pm  looking  for  you!"  he  called  cheerfully. 

She  regarded  him  unsmiling.  "Well,"  she  re- 
marked carelessly,  "you  look  like  a  gentleman 
of  leisure." 

"Just  what  I  am.  You  guessed  right.  My 
Villa  is  finished  and  I  've  been  waiting  for  you 
because  I  'm  going  to  let  everybody  in  to-mor- 
row and  I  wanted  you  to  see  it  with  me  alone." 

"My  opinion  ain't  worth  anything,"  said 
Eliza;  "besides,  it's  pretty  near  time  to  get 
supper.  Miss  Foster  went  up  to  Portland  to- 
day." 

" I  know  she  did.  That's  why  I'm  in  a  hurry 
to  take  you  into  the  studio  before  the  boat  ar- 
rives. You  know  how  discouraging  you  were, 
Eliza,  and  I  wanted  to  surprise  you.  I'd  have 
liked  to  surprise  everybody,  but,  of  course,  I 
405 


The  Inner  Flame 

had  n't  the  nerve  to  keep  Miss  Foster  out.  The 
rent  I  pay  did  n't  warrant  it."  The  speaker 
twinkled  down  into  Eliza's  unresponsive  eyes. 
"I'm  going  to  give  a  tea  to-morrow  and  I  want 
to  talk  it  over  with  you." 

They  had  strolled  near  to  the  rustic  bench 
where  Mrs.  Wright  was  still  sitting  with  her 
work. 

"Eliza  is  going  with  me  to  have  a  private 
view  of  the  Villa,"  said  Phil.  "Your  turn  to- 
morrow. I'm  going  to  give  a  tea.  Will  you 
come?' 

"Most  assuredly,"  answered  Mrs.  Wright. 
"As  soon  as  you  cleaned  those  windows,  my 
curiosity  began  to  effervesce." 

"I  can't  go  now,"  said  Eliza.  "I've  waited 
this  long,  I  guess  I  can  wait  till  to-morrow.  I  Ve 
got  to  get  supper." 

Philip  threw  an  arm  around  her  and  drew  her 
forward. 

"Boarders  have  come,  Mr.  Philip,"  she  ex- 
claimed. "They'll  see  you." 

"I  hope  they  will,"  he  responded  firmly.  "If 
.they  don't  know  I  love  you,  it's  the  best  way  to 
tell  them." 

Eliza  walked  along  stiffly,  perforce,  toward 
the  forbidden  ground. 

406 


Philip  Entertains 

:<  Yes,  I  thought  I  'd  make  a  grand  splurge  to- 
morrow, and  give  a  tea,"  he  continued.  "I 
want  you  to  preside." 

"Do  what?" 

"Pour.  I  want  you  to  pour  for  me." 

"H'm.  Ridiculous!  Let  one  of  the  girls  do  it." 

"Well,  just  as  you  say.  Now,  then,"  they 
were  drawing  near  the  little  house,  "prepare! 
Be  a  good  sport  now,  and  own  yourself  wrong  if 
you  think  you  are.  See  my  shingle?" 

Eliza's  eyes  followed  his  gesture  and  caught 
sight  of  the  crowing  cock. 

"H'm,"  she  said;  then  they  went  inside. 

Eliza  looked  about  in  silence  for  a  minute. 

"It's  clean,"  she  said  at  last;  and  Phil  knew 
she  was  moved  to  catch  at  a  word  of  praise  as 
one  says  of  a  neighbor's  plain  and  uninteresting 
baby,  "How  healthy  he  looks!" 

He  began  explaining  his  devices  to  Eliza  and 
her  heart  was  touched  by  his  joy  in  all  this 
cheap  gloom. 

By  the  time  he  opened  the  back  door,  she  was 
ready  to  weep  over  him;  and  she  said:  — 

"That's  a  real  sightly  piazza." 

Then  they  moved  into  the  little  kitchen. 

" I've  been  waiting  for  you  to  tell  me  what  to 
do  here,"  said  the  artist,  and  Eliza  rose  to  the 
407 


The  Inner  Flame 

bait  and  began  pulling  things  about  and  show- 
ing him  where  shelves  must  be  placed. 

"How  are  you  goin'  to  give  a  tea,"  she  asked, 
"with  one  broken  mug?" 

"Borrow  cups  and  saucers  from  Aunt  Isabel. 
That's  easy;  but,"  he  looked  down  at  Eliza, 
whose  face  had  regained  its  usual  alertness,  "it 
occurred  to  me  that  perhaps  I  have  some  of  my 
own  —  those  that  you  packed  for  me  and  that 
ran  away  to  the  island." 

"Mr.  Philip,  I'm  a  fool  to  forget  those!"  re- 
sponded the  other,  after  gazing  at  him  in  silence. 
"You  shall  have  every  one  of  'em.  They're  all 
mixed  in  with  the  Foster  things.  I  '11  pick  'em 
out;  and  we'll  lend  you  all  you  need  beside." 

"Would  it  interfere  with  supper  proceedings 
if  we  were  to  do  it  right  now?" 

"Law!  it  ain't  time  to  get  supper  yet,"  re- 
sponded Eliza,  so  promptly  that,  as  they  hurried 
out  of  the  door,  Phil  stooped  to  break  a  long 
blade  of  grass  to  bite. 

A  vigorous  search  was  at  once  instituted  for 
the  china,  and  Phil  and  Eliza  carried  it  down  to 
the  studio;  and  as  they  went,  Mr.  Wright  came 
up  from  the  water  and  joined  his  wife. 

"We're  to  be  let  in  to-morrow,"  she  said. 
"He  has  finished." 

408 


Philip  Entertains 

"Well,  it's  been  a  job,"  remarked  Mr. 
Wright,  who  had  occasionally  sat  on  a  log  and 
watched  Phil  at  his  roof-mending  or  some  other 
strenuous  part  of  the  work. 

"Yes,  he  ought  to  succeed,"  said  Mrs. 
Wright.  "He  has  n't  a  lazy  bone  in  his  body." 

"There  are  n't  many  of  us  that  have  at  his 
age,"  remarked  Mr.  Wright.  "Are  there, 
Pluto?" 

The  cat  had  run  to  meet  him  like  a  dog. 
For  him  the  scent  of  Mr.  Wright's  fishing  trou- 
sers was  as  the  perfume  of  Araby;  and  he  fol- 
lowed him  to  the  room  in  the  shed  where  his 
friend  changed  them  for  habiliments  more  gen- 
erally agreeable. 

At  last  Phil  returned  to  the  boulder  cottage 
where  he  found  Mrs.  Fabian  and  Kathleen  in 
the  wind-break.  The  latter  was  working  at  the 
table,  sorting  the  moss  specimens  for  her  slides. 

She  looked  up  at  him  now  with  a  new  realiza- 
tion of  his  powers. 

"Well,  you  said  this  morning  to-day  would 
finish  the  work,"  said  Mrs.  Fabian,  closing  her 
novel  on  her  finger  for  a  mark.  "Are  you 
through?" 

"As  nearly  as  I  ever  shall  be,"  he  replied, 
throwing  himself  into  a  chair  near  Kathleen's 
409 


The  Inner  Flame 

table  and  regarding  her  deft  fingers  at  their 
work. 

"Well,  I'm  glad,"  said  Mrs.  Fabian,  "for 
we've  seen  nothing  of  you.  I  like  the  way  you 
visit  us." 

He  looked  at  her  quickly  to  see  if  there  were 
feeling  behind  the  accusation. 

"Now,  you'll  have  to  stay  on  a  week  when 
you  are  not  so  preoccupied." 

"Not  if  he  does  n't  wish  to,  mother,"  said 
Kathleen,  going  on  with  her  work.  Her  cheeks 
were  still  flushed  from  the  warm  tramp  to  the 
woods;  the  red  glints  in  her  hair  shone  lustrous. 

"It  does  look  like  making  use  of  you,  does  n't 
it?"  he  said  impetuously.  "But  you're  so  good 
to  me,  both  of  you.  To-morrow  you'll  forgive 
me,  Aunt  Isabel,  when  you  see  I  have  a  place  to 
work  and  trouble  no  one.  I  do  hope  it  won't 


rain." 


"Oh,  no,"  said  Kathleen,  handling  a  tiny  bit 
of  moss.  "The  moon  holds  the  weather." 

Mrs.  Fabian  laughed.    "Kathleen,  the  as- 
tronomer," she  said. 

The  girl  nodded.  "It  may  not  be  a  scientific 
way  to  put  it,  but  I  've  always  noticed  it  here. 
It  will  be  full  to-morrow  night.   The  weather 
won't  change  till  the  moon  does." 
410 


Philip  Entertains 

"Delightfully  consoling,"  said  Phil,  continu- 
ing to  watch  her  averted  face.  It  seemed  to  him 
this  was  the  first  time  since  Christmas  night 
that  his  mind  had  been  sufficiently  at  leisure 
from  itself  to  concentrate  upon  her.  He  sud- 
denly remembered  that  she  used  to  like  cigar- 
ettes. He  had  not  yet  seen  her  use  one.  Perhaps 
she  was  aiding  Edgar  in  the  stern  limit  which  he 
was  imposing  upon  himself. 

"I  wonder,"  he  said,  "if  either  of  you  would 
pour  for  me  at  my  grand  tea  to-morrow." 

Kathleen  did  not  look  up,  but  her  cheeks 
grew  warmer  while  she  manipulated  the  moss. 

"Oh,  a  tea  in  the  chicken-house,"  laughed 
Mrs.  Fabian. 

The  light  jeering  tone  struck  Kathleen  as 
coming  at  a  particularly  unfortunate  moment. 

"I  will.   Be  glad  to,"  she  said  heartily. 

"Whom  are  you  going  to  invite?  The  fish?" 
laughed  Mrs.  Fabian. 

Phil's  naivete  was  dashed  by  her  tone.  Kath- 
leen felt  it. 

"Mother's  jealous,  Phil,"  she  said,  "because 
she  has  seen  so  little  of  you  all  the  week.  She  is  at 
fever  heat  of  curiosity  as  to  what  you  have  been 
doing;  and  as  for  tea!  Mother's  an  inebriate. 
She  won't  leave  any  for  the  fish.  You'll  see." 
411 


The  Inner  Flame 

Phil  looked  at  the  speaker  gratefully,  and 
leaned  toward  her  a  little.  "I  have  the  right 
barrel  at  last,"  he  said.  "The  one  that  ran 
away  to  the  island.  Do  you  remember?" 

His  eyes  were  so  very  speaking  that  Kathleen 
dropped  hers  to  the  moss.  She  nodded  and 
smiled. 

"It  knew  where  it  ought  to  go,  did  n't  it?" 
she  returned. 

Mrs.  Fabian's  countenance  had  sobered.  She 
knew  the  descendant  of  the  Van  Ruyslers  so 
well  that  she  understood  that  she  had  offended. 

"Can't  one  make  a  bit  of  fun  once  in  a 
while?"  she  asked  in  injured  tones  of  Kathleen 
when  next  they  were  alone. 

"Yes,  once  in  a  while,"  answered  the  girl, 
and  kissed  her. 

"It'll  be  something  funny  for  you  to  look 
back  upon  when  you  come  out,  Kathleen,  that 
your  first  function  after  graduating  took  place 
in  a  chicken-house." 

"I  hope  I  shall  not  be  homesick  for  it," 
thought  the  girl;  but  she  only  smiled. 

"Kathleen  is  certainly  touchy  about  Phil," 

mused  Mrs.  Fabian.  "  She  glared  up  at  me  just 

the  way  she  did  last  fall  when  I  wanted  to  get 

Aunt  Mary's  silver.   She  is  the  queerest  girl!" 

412 


Philip  Entertains 

The  moon  or  something  else  did  hold  the 
weather  and  the  artist  could  have  had  no  better 
day  on  which  to  give  his  proof  that  where 
there's  a  will  there's  a  way. 

The  company  swarmed  through  the  little 
house,  laughing,  admiring,  questioning.  At  last 
they  stood  on  the  terrace. 

"My  dear  boy!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Wright. 
"You  could  have  no  better  view  if  you  were  a 
millionaire!" 

"The  only  thing  lacking,"  cried  Violet,  "is  a 
white  peacock.  Where  is  the  white  peacock?" 

"How  about  it,  Edgar?"  asked  Phil. 
"Could  n't  you  stand  out  there  for  the  lady?" 

"The  nightingale  could  never  deceive  us," 
said  Mrs.  Wright,  bending  her  universally  lov- 
ing gaze  on  Edgar,  whose  chin  was  held  rather 
higher  than  usual. 

"That's  so,"  cried  Phil.  "Sing  us  something, 
Edgar,  right  here  and  now." 

"  Certainly,"  responded  the  gifted  one,  regard- 
ing his  host  as  he  launched  easily  into  song:  - 

" '  I'm  looking  for  a  lobster  and  I  think  you  '11  do.' " 

Mrs.  Fabian  did  not  join  in  the  laugh.  She 
had  moved  inside,  and  her  lorgnette  was  fixed 
on  a  closed  door. 

413 


The  Inner  Flame 

"I  must  see  in  there,  Phil,"  she  said. 

"Of  course,  you  must,  Mrs.  Bluebeard,"  he 
replied.  "You  may  all  go  in  this  once,  but  it's 
the  last  time  ever,  I  warn  you,  for  that  is  my 
kitchen." 

They  swarmed  through  to  the  little  room, 
where  Edgar  perceived  with  a  groan  an  oil-stove 
burning  cosily  in  the  midst  of  canvas,  paints, 
easel,  et  cetera. 

"/'//  never  go  in  again,  I  promise  you,"  he 
declared. 

At  the  host's  invitation,  the  company  ar- 
ranged themselves  on  the  rejuvenated  chairs 
and  couch,  and  Kathleen  made  tea  at  the 
spindle-legged  table. 

Mrs.  Fabian's  lorgnette  was  bent  upon  the 
newel  post. 

"However  did  you  make  him  stand  up, 
dear?"  she  asked,  regarding  the  Mercury  which 
had  winged  his  way  from  her  garret.  "We 
have  n't  been  upstairs  yet,  remember." 

"And  you  won't  go  till  you're  tired  of  life," 
returned  the  host.  "It  abounds  in  trapdoors 
and,  aside  from  my  affection  for  you,  the  furni- 
ture down  here  could  n't  stand  being  fallen  on." 

Being  turned  ceilingward,  Mrs.  Fabian's 
lorgnette  discovered  that  branches  of  bay  had 
414 


Philip  Entertains 

been  woven  through  the  rafters  in  some  places. 
She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"You'll  get  rained  on  in  this  dilapidated  old 
place,"  she  said.  "A  few  bay  leaves  can't 
deceive  me." 

"Madam!  Are  you  aware  that  you  are  talk- 
ing about  the  Villa  Chantecler?  That  roof  is  as 
tight  as  a  drum." 

Mrs.  Fabian  stirred  the  lemon  in  her  sub- 
stantially thick  cup;  and  looked  admiringly  at 
the  energetic  host. 

"I  only  hope,  Phil,"  she  sighed,  "that  you 
are  n't  too  practical  to  succeed  in  your  profes- 
sion. So  few  artists  would  know  how  to  mend  a 
roof  or  even  remember  the  necessity  for  it.  I 
hope  it  is  n't  a  bad  sign." 

Edgar,  sitting  with  Violet  on  the  railing, 
drinking  tea,  heard  his  mother's  comment. 

"A  good  deal  in  that,  I  think,"  he  remarked 
softly.  "I've  never  seen  any  of  Phil's  things 
except  that  rough  black-and-white  stuff  he  has 
in  there.  He  never  seemed  to  me  to  have  a  par- 
ticle of  temperament." 

Violet  was  inclined  to  agree.  She  had  seen 
nothing  amusing  in  Philip's  chaff  about  the 
peacock.    She  thought  it  quite  as  silly  as  were 
the  other  comments  on  the  robin. 
415 


The  Inner  Flame 

"I  wish  you  would  sing  something,"  she  said. 
"Do,  and  surprise  them." 

"I  can't.  I  have  n't  even  a  banjo." 

"I've  noticed  you  have  everything  over  at 
the  house:  banjo,  guitar,  mandolin,  everything. 
You  must  leave  one  of  them  over  here.  Music 
would  sound  perfectly  charming  in  this  place." 

"Any  music?"  asked  Edgar,  smiling. 

She  returned  his  look  from  the  tops  of  her 
eyes.  "Bold  fisherman,"  she  replied. 

Her  companion  scanned  the  horizon:  "The 
moon  is  going  to  be  great  to-night.  It  looks  as 
if  it  would  rise  clear  out  of  the  water.  Want  to 
go  for  a  sail?" 

"I  don't  believe  I  can,"  replied  Violet.  "I 
have  an  engagement." 

"An  engagement!"  returned  Edgar,  sceptic- 
ally. "Are  you  going  to  read  aloud  to  your 
aunt?" 

Violet  smiled  at  him  provokingly.  "You're 
not  the  only  man  on  this  island,"  she  remarked. 

A  quick  flush  mounted  to  Edgar's  forehead. 

"Phil?"  he  asked  quickly. 

She  nodded,  mutely,  and  took  the  last  swal- 
low of  her  tea. 

Her  companion  looked  as  if  he  might  be  in  the 
throes  of  the  red  mood. 


Philip  Entertains 

"That's  beastly,"  he  said,  dismayed  to  think 
that  in  all  Phil's  preoccupation  he  had  had  suf- 
ficient forethought  to  secure  Violet  for  this 
perfect  evening.  "Since  when?"  he  demanded 
fiercely. 

"Since  yesterday,"  she  returned  demurely, 
apparently  unconscious  that  the  arrangement 
caused  annoyance. 

"Very  well,  then,  we'll  take  the  yacht,"  he 
said,  "and  let  the  crowd  go.  Phil  can  help  me 
sail  her.  I  was  intending  to  take  the  motor-boat 
and  you  alone." 

"I  don't  know  whether  Mr.  Sidney  would 
care  to,"  she  returned  coolly,  "but  it's  very 
kind  of  you." 

Edgar  regarded  her,  baffled.  "What  —  what 
had  you  planned  to  do?"  he  asked.  He  knew 
the  question  was  inexcusable  and  braced  him- 
self for  a  snub;  but  the  sweet  Violet,  exultant  at 
his  open  disturbance,  administered  none. 

"Nothing  special,"  she  replied.  "Mr.  Sidney 
is  invited  to  dine  with  us,  in  celebration  of  the 
completion  of  the  improvements  he  has  been 
making  on  the  estate.  That's  all." 

"Oh,  absurd!"  declared  Edgar.  "As  if  you 
could  n't  dine  any  foggy  night.  Well,  you  don't 
need  to  stay  after  dinner.  He  is  n't  your  guest." 
417 


The  Inner  Flame 

Violet  regarded  him  with  an  ironical  smile. 

"I've  been  taught  manners,"  she  said.  "Be- 
side, perhaps  I  want  to  stay.  Did  n't  that 
occur  to  you?" 

Edgar  scowled  and  looked  off  on  the  ocean 
and  back  again.  "I  don't  want  to  take  the 
whole  family  out  in  order  to  get  you,"  he  said, 
fuming. 

"I  wouldn't,"  she  answered,  laughing.  "It 
is  n't  worth  the  trouble." 

Her  companion  clenched  his  even  teeth.  He 
did  n't  want  to  risk  Philip's  meandering  about 
the  island  alone  with  Violet  on  such  an  evening 
as  this  was  going  to  be.  He  would  be  sure  to  talk 
of  his  work  and  his  hopes,  and  her  confoundedly 
soulful  eyes  would  look  back  at  him  compre- 
hendingly,  and  a  precedent  would  be  estab- 
lished and  — 

"You  see,  Mr.  Sidney  expects  to  take  all  his 
dinners  with  us  after  he  begins  working  here," 
went  on  Violet  sweetly.  "It  will  be  so  conven- 
ient just  to  run  across." 

Edgar  gave  her  a  furious  glance,  but  the  sim- 
plicity of  her  regard  was  complete. 

Mrs.  Wright  came  to  the  open  door.  "We're 
going  now,  Violet,"  she  said.  "Will  you  come? 
Our  host  positively  refuses  to  allow  us  to  help 
418 


Philip  Entertains 

him  put  things  away,  and  he  will  follow  a  little 
later.  I've  been  hoping,"  turning  to  Edgar, 
"  that  you  might  be  moved  to  sing  as  you  sat  out 
here." 

The  young  man  had  sprung  to  his  feet  and 
was  trying  to  banish  evidences  of  the  red  mood 
from  his  brow. 

"  I  wanted  to  take  Violet  out  on  the  water  to- 
night," he  said.  "  It  seems  there 's  an  obstacle." 

"Yes,  a  large  one,"  returned  Mrs.  Wright 
pleasantly.  "Lots  of  evenings  coming,  but  I 
don't  know  about  letting  my  little  girl  go  on  the 
water  at  night." 

"  I  guarantee  her  safety.  I  Ve  come  here  ever 
since  I  was  a  baby,  Mrs.  Wright,  and  I'm  an 
amphibious  animal;  but  if  Sidney  should  ever 
suggest  it,  remember  he's  a  landlubber.  Half 
the  time  they  don't  know  enough  to  be  afraid." 

"Very  true,"  returned  Mrs.  Wright,  with  her 
natural  graceful  sweetness  of  manner,  which 
at  least  succeeded  in  making  Edgar  feel  rude. 
"Come,  dear,"  turning  to  Violet,  "I'd  like  to 
have  you  come  with  me." 

So  the  girl  rose  and  yielded  her  cup  to  Edgar, 
who  took  it  with  dignity.  He,  the  ex-cavalier  of 
Mrs.  Larrabee,  not  to  be  able  to  mould  circum- 
stances among  these  poor  and  provincial  people! 
419 


The  Inner  Flame 

He  took  leave  of  Philip,  and  tendered  his 
congratulations  with  an  air  fitted  to  grace  mar- 
ble halls.  "I  believe,"  he  added,  "you  don't 
dine  at  home  to-night." 

"No,"  replied  Phil,  "Miss  Foster  is  very 
kindly  entertaining  her  tenant." 

Edgar  pricked  up  his  ears;  and  instantly  ran 
after  Violet.  "Phil  says  Jane  Fosterinvited  him," 
he  said  vehemently.  "  I  shall  call  for  you  by  eight 
o'clock.  I'll  take  the  best  care  of  her,  Mrs. 
Wright.  I  assure  you  I  will,  and  bring  her  in 
early." 

He  was  off  before  he  could  be  gainsaid,  and 
Mrs.  Wright  noticed  that  Violet's  expression 
was  such  as  might  be  worn  by  a  well-grown  kit- 
ten who  had  been  hilariously  entertained  in  a 
game  with  a  mouse  which  was  as  yet  unfinished 
and  highly  promising. 

The  events  of  the  week  had  thrown  light  on 
the  happiness  Violet  evinced  the  day  of  her 
arrival  under  Edgar  Fabian's  escort.  Mrs. 
Wright's  tenderness  for  her  orphan  niece  was 
alertly  watchful.  She  put  an  arm  around  her 
now  and  drew  her  away  from  the  house,  and 
they  walked  slowly  across  the  grass. 

"  It  really  is  perfectly  safe  to  go  on  the  water 
with  Edgar,"  said  the  girl,  half  laughing. 

420 


Philip  Entertains 

"For  me,  it  might  be,"  returned  Mrs.  Wright 
quietly. 

Violet  blushed  deeply,  and  dreaded  what 
might  be  coming. 

"The  Fabians  are  nice  people,"  went  on  her 
aunt,  "very  rich  people  and  able  to  give  you 
pleasures,  and  I  like  you  to  be  friendly  with 
them;  but  I'm  a  little  afraid  of  this  situation." 

"You  need  n't  be,"  burst  forth  the  girl  im- 
pulsively. "Edgar  doesn't  really  care  much 
about  me." 

"That's  the  trouble,"  said  Mrs.  Wright 
quietly. 

The  reply  was  so  unexpected  that  Violet  felt 
a  sharp  twinge  of  mortification  and  a  sponta- 
neous desire  to  show  her  aunt  that  she  was 
wrong.  There  were  lots  of  small  proofs  that  she 
might  give  her  — 

"No,"  she  returned,  suddenly  serious.  "He 
cares  very  much  for  me  in  a  certain  way:  my 
understanding  of  his  gift  —  and  his  hopes  - 
and  his  career.  His  family  mean  to  be  kind,  but 
they're  so  unsympathetic.  They're  not  tem- 
peramental like  him  and  - 

Violet  paused  because  Aunt  Amy  was  smil- 
ing. It  was  unkind  to  smile  at  such  a  time.  Very 
well !  Her  lips  should  be  sealed  from  this  time 
421 


The  Inner  Flame 

on.  She  would  never  again  speak  to  her  about 
Edgar! 

"He  is  very  attractive  even  with  all  his  con- 
ceit," said  Mrs.  Wright,  who  was  quite  con- 
scious that  the  girl's  slender  body  had  suddenly 
a  resentful  rigidity.  "A  beautiful  tenor  voice 
and  conceit  seem  to  be  inseparable  in  this  mun- 
dane sphere;  and  if  my  little  girl  has  understood 
and  responded  to  his  outpourings  about  himself 
she  is  charming  to  him."  Mrs.  Wright  paused 
and  then  went  on:  "Look  around,  Violet,  and 
realize  that  you  are  the  only  girl  here  to  whom 
he  can  show  attention.  Did  he  show  you  any  in 
New  York  ?  Did  he  go  out  of  his  way  for  you  ? 
You  fell  right  into  his  reach  on  the  train  and  he 
took  the  gifts  the  gods  provided;  and  they  were 
very  sweet  gifts." 

The  speaker  squeezed  her  unresponsive  lis- 
tener, whose  heart  was  beating  hotly.  "As  a 
rule  men  are  marauders,"  she  went  on.  "As  a 
rule,  women  are  single-hearted,  faithful.  There 
are  exceptions.  I  want  to  give  you  one  piece  of 
advice  and  I  can't  put  it  too  strongly.  Take  it 
in  and  act  upon  it,  and  it  may  save  you  a  world 
of  hurt  vanity,  and  possibly  a  broken  heart.  No 
matter  how  a  man  behaves  toward  you,  —  no 
matter  how  he  looks,  or  what  he  does,  —  or 
422 


Philip  Entertains 

what  he  says,  —  don't  believe  or  even  imagine 
that  he  loves  you  until  he  tells  you  he  does,  in 
so  many  words." 

There  were  tears  in  the  baby-bachelor's  blue 
eyes.  Among  the  stormy  emotions  that  filled 
her  was  the  horrible  suspicion  that,  instead  of 
being  a  foreordained  victor,  the  kitten  might 
possibly  in  the  end  be  the  mouse's  victim. 

"Now,  Mr.  Sidney,"  went  on  Mrs.  Wright's 
calm  voice,  "is  a  man  who  I  believe  has  hold  of 
life  by  the  right  end." 

"He  is  always  making  fun  of  Edgar,"  burst 
forth  Violet,  her  breath  coming  fast.  "You 
heard  what  he  said  about  the  peacock." 

At  this,  Mrs.  Wright  fell  a  peg  lower  in  her 
niece's  estimation,  for  she  laughed. 

"  I  knew  what  he  meant,"  she  answered,  "  but 
I  couldn't  let  the  lovely  singer's  feelings  be 
hurt." 

"Knew  what  he  meant!"  exclaimed  Violet, 
indignantly,  and  suddenly  breaking  away  from 
her  aunt's  embrace,  she  ran  toward  the  house 
and  disappeared. 

Mrs.  Wright  followed  the  fleeing  form  with 
her  eyes,  and  nodded  gently. 

"  I  thought  so.  Only  just  in  time,"  she  said  to 
herself.  The  seed  was  dropped,  and  even  though 
423 


the  ground  did  have  to  be  harrowed  to  get  the 
necessary  depth,  it  was  better  so. 

The  evening  was  as  beautiful  as  Edgar 
Fabian  had  foreseen.  One  of  the  many  charms 
of  Brewster's  Island  was  the  habit  the  wind 
had  of  lulling  at  sunset,  often  making  the 
evening  air  milder  than  that  of  day. 

To-night  the  sun  had  sunk  in  a  clear  sky  be- 
hind the  White  Mountains.  All  the  family  at 
the  Wright  cottage  had  come  out  after  supper 
to  see  the  Presidential  Range,  ninety  miles 
away,  silhouetted  black  against  the  golden 
glory. 

"One  can  breathe  here,"  thought  Philip. 
"One  can  breathe  here."  He  wondered  if 
Kathleen  were  watching  the  sunset. 

"Oh,  but  turn  around,"  cried  Violet  sud- 
denly. "This  is  a  three-ringed  circus.  One 
should  live  on  a  pivot  here  on  a  clear  night." 

Phil  turned  obediently,  and  saw  the  waters 
dashing  against  a  huge  disk  of  pale  gold. 

Kathleen,  lying  in  her  hammock,  arm  folded 
beneath  her  head,  was  also  watching  the  moon. 

Edgar  sat  near  her  on  the  steps,  smoking  his 
third  cigarette  that  day.  It  was  his  rigid  allow- 
ance. He  saw  dimly  the  figures  come  out  from 
the  Wright  cottage  and  his  first  impulse  was  to 
424 


Philip  Entertains 

stroll  across  and  join  them;  but  pride  forbade. 
Supposing  he  were  to  get  there  just  in  time  to  see 
Violet  walk  off  with  Philip. 

"What  a  perfect  evening!"  said  Kathleen 
lazily.  "Go  in  and  get  the  guitar,  Edgar,  and 
sing  me  something." 

Sing  something!  Edgar's  teeth  clenched  at 
the  thought. 

"I've  practised  such  a  lot  to-day,  Pm  no 
good,"  he  replied. 

"Why,  I  did  n't  hear  you,"  she  said. 

"No.  I  took  my  trusty  pitch-pipe  down  in 
the  woods  and  scared  the  birds.  I  have  some 
mercy  on  you  and  mother." 

"What  is  your  aim?"  asked  his  sister.  "What 
do  you  want  to  do?  Concert  work?" 

"Yes,  perhaps.  Mazzini  says  I  could  teach 
right  now  if  I  wanted  to." 

"Teach  ? "  repeated  Kathleen,  trying  to  speak 
respectfully,  but  smiling  at  the  man  in  the 
moon,  who  grinned  back  as  if  he  understood. 

"Of  course,  there's  no  necessity  for  that,  so  I 
shall  simply  prepare  myself  for  public  work; 
recitals;  possibly  go  abroad  for  the  prestige  of 
study  over  there.  Not  that  I  need  i^  but  the 
name  goes  a  long  way,  and  if  I  should  go  into 
opera  it  is  best  to  begin  there." 
425 


The  Inner  Flame 

i 

The  man  in  the  moon  grew  redder  in  the  face. 
So  did  Kathleen;  but  she  knew  that  sublime 
self-assurance  is  an  asset  not  to  be  despised. 
She  looked  at  her  brother's  trim  shapely  head, 
rising  from  the  white  silk  collar  of  his  negligee 
shirt. 

"Does  Mazzini  really  think  you  are  already 
prepared  to  teach?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  yes.  I  had  very  few  errors  in  method  to 
unlearn,  and  he  says,  given  a  good  voice,  a  good 
presence,  and  good  looks,  tact,  and  an  attract- 
ive studio,  pupils  will  come  fast  enough,"  re- 
plied Edgar  carelessly.  "He  said  he'd  send  me 
his  overflow;  but  of  course  all  that  was  in  joke. 
He  knows  that  it  is  no  question  of  money  with 


me." 


Kathleen  ceased  to  smile  at  the  moon,  for  her 
thoughts  recurred  to  their  father,  meeting  his 
problems  in  the  heat  of  the  great  city.  So  far 
his  letters  had  breathed  no  hint  of  trouble. 

"That's  a  glorious  feeling,  Edgar,"  she  said 
soberly,  "to  feel  certain  that  you  can  be  inde- 
pendent." 

"Yes,"  he  returned,  speaking  low,  and  hold- 
ing the  cigarette  between  his  fingers.  "  I  said  I  'd 
show  father,  and  I  will." 

The  remainder  of  his  thoughts  he  did  not 
426 


Philip  Entertains 

voice;  but  there  was  some  one  else  he  meant  to 
show.  The  vivacious  Mrs.  Larrabee  who  had 
dared  to  use  him  when  it  suited  her  and  then 
discard  him  with  raised  eyebrows  and  a  scorn- 
ful word.  She  should  see  him  win  the  plaudits 
of  the  multitude;  then,  when  she  endeavored  to 
add  her  incense  and  claim  to  have  been  his  in- 
spiration, it  should  be  his  turn  to  show  cold 
disdain.  He  ground  the  even  teeth  at  some 
memory. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you,  Edgar,"  went  on  Kath- 
leen in  the  same  serious  tone,  "that  I  am  proud 
of  your  determination;  proud  of  your  regular 
work;  proud  of  your  cutting  down  on  smoking; 
and  it  will  overwhelm  me  with  joy  to  see  you 
succeed." 

"Thanks,  Kath,"  he  returned.  "I  appreciate 
that." 

"And  I  also  want  to  ask  you  not  to  make 
love  to  Violet  Manning,"  went  on  the  low,  seri- 
ous voice. 

Edgar  was  dumb,  and  now  the  man  in  the 
moon  met  him  with  a  grin. 

"You  know  it  will  be  only  an  idle  pastime 
with  you,  and  because  she  is  the  only  girl  here. 
It  might  mean  a  lot  to  her,  and  —  it's  a  hard 
world  for  girls." 

427 


The  Inner  Flame 

Kathleen  had  not  intended  to  end  her  appeal 
in  that  way,  but  the  declaration  broke  from  her. 

"  She  does  n't  care  a  picayune  for  me,"  re- 
turned Edgar.  "  Don't  you  worry."  He  hoped 
his  sister  would  contradict  him;  but  she  did  not. 

"You  might  be  able  to  make  her,"  she  said. 
"Be  too  manly  to  try,  Edgar.  Do,  do  be  un- 
selfish and  honest." 

The  earnest  deliberation  of  her  tone  caused 
her  listener  to  reflect  for  a  moment;  and  the 
man  in  the  moon,  by  this  time  crimson  in  the 
face,  met  his  frowning  regard  mirthfully. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

BY  MOONLIGHT 

WHILE  Edgar  was  still  frowning,  and  divided 
between  consoled  pride  and  a  consciousness  of 
guilt,  a  tall  dark  form  came  into  sight  in  the 
moonlit  landscape.  It  broke  into  a  run  as  it 
neared  the  cottage,  and  with  a  sense  of  relief 
Edgar  recognized  Philip  Sidney,  who  bounded 
over  the  piazza  railing. 

Catching  sight  of  Edgar  sitting  alone,  he 
spoke  eagerly:  — 

"Has  Kathleen  gone  anywhere?" 

"No,  she's  there  in  the  hammock.  How  did 
you  break  away  so  early?" 

"I  did  n't  think  it  was  going  to  be  easy,"  re- 
plied Phil  half  laughing,  and  looking  toward  the 
shadowy  hammock  where  Kathleen  in  her  white 
gown  was  watching  him;  "but  we  finished  sup- 
per a  long  time  ago,  and  —  and  have  been  talk- 
ing ever  since.  We  had  told  each  other  about 
everything  we  knew,  and  so  I  thought"  —  his 
voice  trailed  away  —  "well,  I  think  I  was 
homesick." 

429 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Why  did  n't  you  bring  Violet  with  you?" 
asked  Edgar. 

"I  tried  to;  that  is,  I  suggested  that  it  was 
too  heavenly  a  night  to  keep  still,  and  asked  her 
if  she  would  like  to  go  to  walk — "  As  he  talked, 
Phil  kept  his  eyes  on  the  white  figure  in  the  ham- 
mock and  he  spoke  eagerly  as  if  he  were  justify- 
ing himself.  "But,"  he  went  on,  "she  said  she 
had  a  headache  and  felt  that  she  must  excuse 
herself." 

Edgar  looked  up  triumphantly  at  the  man  in 
the  moon,  but  he  refused  to  see  the  joke.  His 
hilarious  mood  had  changed.  He  beamed  down 
now  in  pensive  golden  serenity  with  the  usual 
remote  benevolence  for  all  lovers  which  has  won 
his  reputation. 

"What  was  there  in  that  tea  I  made?"  in- 
quired Kathleen  lazily.  "Mother  has  the  head- 
ache, too.  Is  n't  it  a  shame  on  such  an  even- 
ing." 

"Too  bad,"  said  Phil  perfunctorily.  He  ap- 
proached the  hammock  and  neither  he  nor 
Kathleen  noted  that  Edgar  made  an  unostenta- 
tious departure  such  as  the  comic  papers  de- 
scribe as  a  cat-like  sneak.  Certainly  Pluto 
could  not  have  moved  any  more  quietly,  and  his 
heart  was  gay. 

430 


By  Moonlight 

"Headache!"  he  thought,  the  even  teeth 
broadly  exhibited.  "What  that  headache  needs 
is  the  water-cure";  and  the  boarders  sitting  out 
in  front  of  the  Wright  cottage  heard  the 
"Toreador  Song"  blithely  whistled  by  some 
one  coming  across  the  field. 

When  Edgar  arrived  at  the  farmhouse  he 
looked  about  for  a  familiar  figure.  Among  the 
little  group,  Eliza  Brewster  was  the  only  one  he 
knew.  He  approached  her  with  his  most 
debonair  manner. 

"Good  evening,  Eliza.  Will  you  please  tell 
Miss  Manning  I  am  here?" 

"She's  got  the  headache,  Mr.  Fabian." 

"So  Mr.  Sidney  said;  but  I  thought  she 
might  see  me  for  just  a  minute.  I  want  to  tell 
her  something  important." 

"Well,  that's  too  bad,  'cause  she's  gone  to 
bed.  I'll  take  any  message  you  want  me  to, 
and  give  it  to  her  in  the  morning.  I  'd  rather 
not  disturb  her  now  'cause  I  just  took  her  up  a 
pitcher  o'  water  and  she  told  me  she  was  goin' 
to  try  to  go  to  sleep." 

Edgar  was  so  blankly  silent  that  Eliza  spoke 
again. 

"  I  '11  call  Mrs.  Wright  if  you  'd  rather  see  her. 
She 's  in  her  room  writin'  a  letter." 
431 


The  Inner  Flame 

"No,  no,  don't  trouble  yourself,"  said  the 
visitor,  lightly.  "Good  night." 

He  moved  away  quickly  toward  the  Villa 
Chantecler  and  made  a  detour  around  it.  The 
little  piazza  overlooking  the  sea  gleamed  white 
in  the  moonlight.  The  bay  leaves  stood  up 
crisp  and  polished.  Edgar  recalled  the  mocking 
in  Violet's  eyes  as  they  had  sat  there  this  after- 
noon. To  lose  an  evening  like  this.  It  was  a 
crime! 

Coming  out  beside  the  orchard  he  looked  up 
at  the  windows  of  Violet's  room.  They  were 
dark. 

His  hopeful  vanity  relinquished  the  hope  that 
she  had  manoeuvred  to  get  rid  of  Phil  in  order 
to  leave  the  coast  clear  for  himself.  He  moved 
up  the  incline  and  threw  himself  down  in  the 
shadow.  He  could  hear  a  stir  at  the  front  of 
the  house.  The  lingerers  in  the  moonlight  were 
moving  inside  and  he  could  see  lamps  twinkle  in 
rooms  where  the  shades  were  pulled  down. 

In  a  few  minutes  more  all  lights  vanished. 
Only  the  rising  tide  broke  the  stillness.  Edgar 
had  been  giving  himself  over  to  dreams  of  a 
brilliant  future  in  which  his  only  handicap  con- 
sisted of  his  father's  money.  Would  the  cyni- 
cal blase  critics  be  able  to  be  as  fair  to  him  as  if 
432 


By  Moonlight 

he  had  been  discovered  among  the  peasants  of 
Italy? 

Suddenly  he  realized  that  never  would  a 
more  wonderful  stage-setting  be  his  than  that 
which  now  surrounded  him.  He  rose  on  his 
elbow  and  looked  up  again  at  Violet's  win- 
dows. 

Then  he  began  to  sing.  Into  the  girl's  unrest- 
ful  dreams  the  sound  fell  like  balm :  - 

"  Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes, 
And  I  will  pledge  with  mine." 

She  was  wide  awake  suddenly  and  looking 
wide-eyed  toward  the  open  windows. 

"Leave  but  a  kiss  within  the  cup 
And  I'll  not  ask  for  wine." 

Her  heart  beat  fast  and  she  pressed  her  hand 
over  her  eyes,  every  faculty  absorbed  in  listen- 
ing to  the  melting  loveliness  of  the  voice. 

Last  night  she  would  have  knelt  happily  by 
the  open  window  and  called  out  a  hushed 
"Bravo,"  to  the  singer. 

Now  she  lay  perfectly  still  after  the  song 
ceased. 

"It  is  because  there  isn't  any  other  girl 
here,"  she  reflected.  "He  is  a  fashionable  man 
with  countless  friends.  I  am  a  dancing-teacher 
433 


The  Inner  Flame 

whom  he  forgets  in  town  and  always  will  forget. 

-That's  the  most  beautiful  voice  in  the 
world,"  she  thought  with  swift  irrelevance;  but 
Edgar,  looking  up  at  the  windows,  saw  only 
blankness.  He  smiled  to  himself.  He  felt  that 
she  was  not  asleep. 

The  moon  shed  a  wondrous  luminous  glow  in 
the  clear  heavens  as  it  sailed  above  him.  The 
"  man  "  looked  into  vast  space  as  though  no 
such  hilarity  as  that  of  his  earlier  mood  had 
been  possible. 

Edgar  sang  again.  The  higher  the  range  of 
the  song,  with  the  more  ease  did  his  voice  thrill 
the  still  night. 

"Oh,  Moon  of  my  delight,  that  knows  no  wane, 
The  Moon  of  heaven  is  rising  once  again. 
How  oft  hereafter  rising  shall  she  look 
Through  this  same  garden  after  me  in  vain! 

And  when  thyself  with  shining  foot  shall  pass 
Among  the  guests  star-scattered  on  the  grass, 
And  in  thy  joyous  errand  reach  the  spot  where  I  made 

one, 
Turn  down  an  empty  glass!" 

Violet  did  not  know  when  or  how  she  reached 
the  window,  but  the  ending  of  the  song  found 
her  kneeling  there,  sobbing  quietly,  her  head 
buried  on  her  crossed  arms.  The  moonlight 
fell  on  her  shining  hair.  Edgar  saw  her  and, 
434 


By  Moonlight 

springing  up,  came  near,  careful  to  keep  in 
shadow,  for  other  window  shades  had  risen 

"Violet!">he  called  softly. 

No  answer. 

"Violet!"  he  said  again.  A  hand  white  in  the 
moonlight  motioned  him  away,  and  he  believed 
that  she  was  weeping.  Tears  of  sympathy,  of 
triumph,  sprang  to  his  own  eyes.  So  before  very 
long  would  hundreds  be  shaken  by  his  art. 

"Just  say  good  night,  Violet,"  he  begged 
softly;  but  she  would  not  look  up.  She  waved 
her  hand  again,  and  her  shade  came  down. 

Only  one  week  since  she  had  come  to  the 
island  and  it  seemed  months.  Her  aunt's  words 
had  pierced  what  she  knew  now  had  been  a 
hope.  How  could  she  have  been  so  insane  as  to 
hope  it !  Even  given  such  a  wild  supposition  as 
that  Edgar  Fabian  would  marry  a  nobody, 
what  comfort  or  peace  was  in  store  for  his  wife? 
Violet  had  seen  a  play  called  "The  Concert," 
in  which  a  wife  had  been  obliged  to  share  her 
artist  husband  with  a  miscellaneous  lot  of  female 
admirers.  Better  a  thousand  times  to  marry  a 
shoemaker  or  any  other  obscure  body  and  so  be 
left  to  his  undisturbed  possession. 

Aunt  Amy  was  terribly  right.  More  right 
than  she  knew. 

435 


The  Inner  Flame 

Violet  crept  back  to  bed  in  a  tumult  of  sensi- 
ble reasoning,  accompanying  which  was  an  in- 
toxicating obbligato  of  divine  music,  which 
sang  and  sang  through  her  excited  brain. 

Meanwhile  Edgar,  strolling  back  deliberately 
through  the  field,  smiled  at  his  own  thoughts. 
So  the  mocking  eyes  had  been  quenched.  What 
a  fine  combination  that  girl  was :  so  spirited,  so 
sincere,  so  temperamental. 

Kathleen's  appeal  recurred  to  him.  "She's 
right,  I  suppose,"  he  reflected.  "After  smelling 
hothouse  flowers  all  winter,  the  wild  rose  is  al- 
luring; but —  "  his  further  thoughts  were  vague; 
but  they  comprised  a  virtuous  intention  of  fair 
play  towards  the  girl  whom  he  had  left  weeping 
at  the  feet  of  his  genius. 

Kathleen  sprang  to  a  sitting  posture  as 
Philip  approached  the  hammock,  and  sitting  on 
its  edge,  swung  gently. 

"Well,"  he  said,  smiling,  "are  n't  we  going  to 
the  rocks?" 

"Oh,  are  we?" 

"Certainly.    I  was  afraid  I  should  n't  get 
back  before  you  had  gone.  I  was  afraid  you  and 
Edgar  might  be  making  the  most  of  the  oppor- 
tunity for  a  fraternal  tete-d-tete" 
436 


By  Moonlight 

"We  were;  but  we  found  the  piazza  satisfac- 
tory for  it." 

"Blase  creatures!"  returned  Phil.  "Hurry, 
Kathleen,"  he  added  eagerly.  "Get  your 
coat." 

"I  wonder  if  mother  may  not  need  me." 

"No  one  needs  you  so  much  as  I  do  to- 
night," was  the  impulsive  response.  "The 
Villa  finished,  a  summer's  work  before  me,  a 
full  moon,  a  rising  tide.  I  feel  as  if  I  could 
hardly  contain  myself  to-night,  and  I've  been 
holding  my  wings  folded,  and  listening  to  Miss 
Foster  and  Eliza  deplore  the  high  price  of  fruit, 
and  sympathizing  with  Miss  Manning's  head- 
ache, and  holding  wool  for  Mrs.  Wright,  all  the 
time  in  a  prickly  heat  for  fear  you  would  be 
gone  somewhere;  and  then  to  get  over  here  and 
find  you  lying  like  a  little  white  cloud  in  the 
hammock  —  it 's  just  like  everything  else  that 
happens  to  me  —  just  the  best  thing  in  the 
world!" 

Kathleen  laughed  at  the  boyish  joy  of  his 
tone.  "Well,  I'll  see  if  mother  needs  me,"  she 
said,  and  went  into  the  house  and  to  her 
mother's  room. 

The  moonlight  streamed  across  the  floor  and 
the  figure  on  the  bed  turned.  "Is  that  you, 
437 


The  Inner  Flame 

Kathleen?"  asked  the  prostrate  one,  through 
her  nose. 

"Yes,  how  are  you  feeling,  dear?  Can  I  do 
anything  for  you  ? " 

"Why,  yes,  Kathleen.  If  you've  had  enough 
of  the  piazza,  you  might  light  the  lamp  and 
read  to  me  a  little  while." 

The  simple  request  magnified  itself  to  a  disas- 
ter. Kathleen  frowned,  not  at  her  mother,  but 
at  herself.  Was  this  all  the  progress  she  had 
made? 

"Shall  I  leave  Phil  alone?"  she  asked  quietly. 

Mrs.  Fabian  revived.  "I  thought  he  was 
over  at  the  Wrights." 

"He  was;  but  he  just  came  home.  Violet  had 
a  headache,  too." 

"Where  is  Edgar?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Oh,  then,  stay  with  him.  It's  too  bad  for  a 
headache  in  every  house  to  spoil  his  evening.  I 
wonder  if  I  could  n't  get  down  to  the  piazza. 
Perhaps  I  'd  feel  better  in  the  fresh  air." 

A  little  pulse,  its  existence  hitherto  unsus- 
pected, began  doing  queer  things  in  Kathleen's 
throat. 

"Phil  wants  to  go  down  to  the  rocks,"  she 
said. 

438 


By  Moonlight 

"Well,  why  does  n't  he?  He  was  mooning  all 
over  the  island  alone  last  night." 

"He  thinks  I  am  going  with  him.  I  came  in 
for  my  coat.  Shall  I  tell  him  you  need  me?" 

"Oh,  no.  Go  with  him.  And  don't  speak  to 
me  when  you  come  in.  I  shall  be  asleep.  I  'm 
feeling  better." 

Kathleen  came  over  to  the  bed  and  kissed  her 
mother,  and  Mrs.  Fabian  patted  her  hand. 
"Tell  Phil  I  wish  I  could  go,  too,"  she  said  with 
nasal  sleepiness. 

Kathleen  smiled,  and  going  to  her  own  room 
took  a  white  polo  coat  and  hurried  downstairs. 

Phil  met  her  with  relief,  and  she  gave  him  a 
couple  of  cushions. 

"I  began  to  think,"  he  said,  "that  she  did 
want  you." 

"Only  for  a  minute,"  returned  Kathleen. 
"  She  sent  word  she  wished  she  was  able  to  come 
with  us." 

The  girl  looked  up  at  her  companion  as  they 
moved  down  on  the  grass  and  he  smiled  at  her 
with  bravado. 

"Not  one  polite  lie  to-night,"  he  answered; 
"I  want  you  all  to  myself.  Think  how  seldom 
it  has  happened." 

Kathleen  laughed  from  sheer  contentment. 

439 


The  Inner  Flame 

"I  think  Cap'n  James  is  the  only  one  who 
has  seen  you  alone,"  she  replied. 

"He's  been  a  trump:  and  now,"  Phil  in- 
flated his  lungs  and  looked  about  the  irregular 
outline  of  the  island  lying  in  sheeted  silver,  and 
at  the  great  lighthouses  flashing  in  the  distance, 
"I  have  a  foothold  in  this  paradise." 

Their  destination  was  the  spot  where  rocks 
rose  highest  on  the  island's  shore,  turning  the 
rising  tide  into  boiling  cauldrons  of  white  foam, 
and  meeting  the  tremendous  impact  of  the  great 
waves  with  jagged  granite  shelves  that  flung  the 
compact  water  high  in  fountains  of  diamonds. 
Giant  power,  giant  unrest,  fascinating  beauty 
glittering  with  phosphorescence,  and  silvered 
for  miles  with  moonlight. 

"Let  me  help  you,  Kathleen,"  said  Phil,  offer- 
ing his  hand. 

"'Bred  and  bawn  in  a  briar  patch,"'  she  re- 
sponded, springing  lightly  over  the  rocks. 

"I  follow  you,  then,"  he  answered;  and 
Kathleen  led  the  way  to  a  partly  sheltered 
nook,  too  inaccessible  for  most  less-accustomed 
visitors,  and  so,  remote  from  certain  other 
figures  which  loomed  penguin-like  on  points  of 
rock. 

"Father  thinks  he  made  the  mistake  of  his 
440 


By  Moonlight 

life  in  not  buying  the  island  outright,"  said  the 
girl;  "then  there  would  n't  be  any  penguins." 

"Supposing  you  had  bought  the  Villa  Chan- 
tecler?  Where  would  I  be?"  asked  Phil,  as  he 
settled  down  a  little  below  the  seat  she  had 
chosen,  and  tried  to  put  the  second  cushion  be- 
hind her  back. 

"Not  at  all,"  she  said,  turning  to  him. 
"Share  and  share  alike."  She  laughed  softly. 
"When  I'm  married,  I'm  going  to  have  the 
tenderloin  cut  in  two.  Once  in  a  while  a  hus- 
band wants  his  wife  to  have  it  all,  but  mostly 
I've  noticed  the  wife  expects  the  husband  to 
have  it  all." 

"That's  like  my  mother,"  said  Phil,  resting 
his  elbow  on  the  discarded  cushion.  "  I  have  the 
most  wonderful  mother." 

"I  know  you  have."  Kathleen  met  the  eyes 
lifted  to  her  with  a  gaze  as  grave  as  their  own 
and  a  sympathy  that  opened  the  flood-gates  to 
all  that  was  pressing  in  her  companion's  heart 
to-night. 

"No  one  but  myself  knows  how  wonderful," 
said  Phil,  looking  back  at  the  water,  something 
swelling  in  his  throat.  After  a  pause  he  went 
on.  "We  never  had  much  money,  and  I 
could  n't  pull  away  and  do  what  I  wished. 
441 


The  Inner  Flame 

That  would  be  no  return  for  my  father's  efforts 
and  denials  for  me.  Mother  understood.  Her 
whole  life  was  a  living  example  of  self-denial  and 
courage.  She  taught  me  to  think  clearly  and 
showed  me  the  value  of  noble-mindedness, 
virtue,  and  controlling  love.  It  was  her  splendid 
patience  and  wisdom  that  gave  me  education 
and  standing-room  in  the  world." 

Kathleen  did  not  speak,  but  he  felt  her  recep- 
tivity. 

"  It  was  very  early  when  I  began  to  think  and 
dream  and  plan  along  entirely  different  lines 
from  those  my  lot  promised.  My  whole  being 
from  a  child  cried  out  for  artistic  expression; 
and  what  pathetic  outbursts  there  were !  I  un- 
derstand it  now.  Does  n't  it  seem  natural  for  a 
child  born  in  the  month  of  May  with  a  mother 
like  a  Madonna,  sweet  and  gentle,  to  chase  but- 
terflies and  pick  flowers  for  their  beauty  and 
fragrance  ?  And  that  child  —  I  can't  remember 
when  he  did  n't  long  to  create;  but  firmly,  day 
•  by  day,  he  was  urged  toward  the  practical. 
Create!  Yes;  but  let  it  be  machinery;  money. 

"The  marble  building  with   its   sculpture 

against  the  blue  of  the  sky,  the  painting  that 

makes  men  wonder,  the  book  that  sets  their 

hearts  to  throbbing  —  that  was  what  I  craved; 

442 


By  Moonlight 

and  often  lost  my  head  in  craving,  my  whole 
being  vibrating  with  a  great  cry  of  joy  in  the 
thought  of  such  creation.  Can't  you  see  it?  The 
month  of  May  —  and  the  flowers  —  and  God's 
universe  —  and  the  boy!" 

The  last  word  choked  in  Phil's  throat. 

"Your  mother,"  said  Kathleen  in  a  low  voice. 
"She  understood." 

Phil  looked  up,  and  surprised  the  tenderness, 
the  comprehension  in  the  face  bent  toward  him. 
"  She  understood,"  he  returned  slowly,  "but  she 
thought  she  saw  her  duty.  I  went  to  college.  I 
forgot  her  many  times,  and  every  time  I  was  a 
fool.  At  last,  I  came  out  and  was  put  to  the 
treadmill ;  but  in  my  last  year  at  school  a  won- 
derful thing  happened  to  my  mother.  A  Mr. 
Tremaine  visited  our  cabin  and  left  with  her  a 
little  book.  Sometime  I  will  tell  you  about  it  if 
you  care  to  know;  but  it  made  a  great  difference 
in  her  life.  My  work  in  the  mine  seemed  typical 
of  my  life.  The  grime,  the  clank  of  machinery, 
the  perfunctory  drudgery,  and  the  hand's 
breath  of  blue  sky  above.  I  crushed  my  long- 
ings and  tried  to  be  practical.  Could  purga- 
tory be  worse  than,  with  such  a  nature,  to  be 
caged  in  underground  gloom?  The  glimpse  of 
sky  was  like  my  mother's  eyes  with  their  joy, 
443 


The  Inner  Flame 

their  knowledge.  She  talked  to  me,  she  per- 
meated me  with  the  new  point  of  view;  the  new 
strength;  the  new  patience.  My  father  praised 
my  efficiency,  and  then  suddenly  the  nightmare 
was  broken  by  a  message  as  from  heaven  — 
you  know  the  rest!"  Philip  turned  quickly,  and 
again  met  his  companion's  speaking  eyes. 

"Kathleen,  can  you  forgive  me!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "This  has  been  an  orgy  of  egotism!" 
Even  as  he  gazed,  the  dark  eyes  veiled  them- 
selves. Only  then  he  realized  how  wide-open 
the  doors  had  been  thrown. 

"I  thank  you  for  telling  me,"  she  said,  with 
her  direct  look. 

"I  seem,"  he  answered,  with  a  vague  unrest, 
—  "I  seem  always  to  have  been  going  to  tell 
you.  There  is  —  there  is  no  one  but  you  to 
whom  I  could  talk  like  that."  He  stared  out  on 
the  water,  then  changed  the  position  of  the 
cushion. 

"Was  that  Mr.  Tremaine  a  publisher? "  asked 
Kathleen. 

"I  don't  know.  Mother  has  always  wished 
she  might  know  who  he  was." 

"There  is  a  Mr.  Tremaine  who  lives  in  Gra- 
mercy  Park  who  is  a  friend  of  father's." 

"Gramercy  Park?"  repeated  Phil,  and  sud- 
444 


By  Moonlight 

denly  remembered.  "Then  I  believe  his  son 
and  heir  was  my  first  and  only  patron.  I  made 
a  picture  for  a  small  Tremaine  one  day  in  the 
park  with  Violet  Manning." 

"Would  n't  it  be  odd  if  it  turned  out  to  be 
the  same?"  said  Kathleen. 

A  magnificent  burst  of  spray  clattering  in 
myriad  drops  on  the  rock  near  them  warned 
them  that  their  tenure  of  the  place  was  short. 

The  girl  smiled.  "  I  think,  as  we  have  spoken 
of  Mr.  Tremaine,  I  must  return  your  confidence 
with  another";  and  Phil,  looking  up  suddenly, 
saw  a  new  shy  consciousness  in  the  slender  face 
which  was  for  some  reason  disagreeable. 

"Don't  tell  me  to-night,  Kathleen!"  he  said 
impulsively. 

"Why  not?"  she  asked,  wondering. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered  honestly; 
"only  that  everything  is  perfect.  What  you 
tell  me  might  change  it.  Any  change  would  be 
for  the  worse." 

Kathleen  smiled  thoughtfully  into  space. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  said,  with  a  little  shrug, 
"if  you  had  urged  me  I  might  have  popped 
back  into  my  shell.  I  'm  terribly  at  home  in 
a  shell!  But  as  it  is  I  think  I'm  going  to  tell 
you." 

445 


The  Inner  Flame 

Phil  looked  at  the  delicate  face,  smiling  in  the 
moonlight. 

"Is  it  something  you  have  made  up  your 
mind  to  do?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  looking  at  him,  sur- 
prised. "How  did  you  guess?" 

"Then  don't  tell  me  till  to-morrow.  I  want 
to  think  that  this  won't  end  —  that  it  will  al- 
ways be  a  rising  tide  and — and  we  watching 
it  together." 

That  newly  acquired  pulse  of  Kathleen's  as- 
serted itself  again,  but  she  swallowed  past  it 
resolutely.  "Oh,  I  shall  still  be  able  to  watch 
the  rising  tide  —  once  in  a  while,"  she  an- 
swered, laughing.  "But  I'm  going  to  tell  you. 
I'm  writing  a  little  book.  There!" 

"What?"  cried  Phil. 

"Yes,  and  I'm  going  to  publish  it.  Mr.  Tre- 
maine  likes  the  idea.  He  is  the  only  one  I've 
told." 

"And  is  that  all?"  asked  Phil  eagerly. 

"All!"  Kathleen  regarded  him  with  mock 
indignation.  The  little  pulse  prevented  its  be- 
ing genuine.  "  Is  all  you  're  going  to  do,  just  to 
paint  pictures,  Mr.  Sidney?" 

"Why,  I  think  that's  bully,"  exclaimed 
Phil,  turning  so  suddenly  as  to  test  the 

446 


By  Moonlight 

sharpness  of  his  rocky  couch.  "Tell  me  about 
it." 

"Well,  for  the  past  year,  I  have  been  be- 
witched by  the  microscope.  It  reveals  a  world 
that  we  are  too  clumsy  to  discern.  The  idea 
occurred  to  me  to  write  a  series  of  microscopic 
fairy  tales." 

"Fine!  Fine!" 

"It's  great  fun.  And  of  course  they  will  be 
illustrated." 

"Who's  going  to  do  it?" 

"You." 

Phil  looked  up  quickly.  She  was  laughing 
and  blushing.  "Of  course  you  would  n't  con- 
sider it,"  she  said,  "but  there  might  be  money 
in  it.  How  do  you  feel  toward  pot-boilers?" 

"I  don't  know,  Kathleen.  Tell  me  more. 
What  sort  of  illustrations?" 

"Well,  you  saw  me  with  that  moss  yester- 
day that  I  had  brought  up  out  of  the  woods? 
The  slide  I  was  making  was  to  be  the  design  for 
a  tree  in  the  illustration.  I  thought  to  make  the 
pictures  educational  in  a  way.  To  put  in  a 
corner  of  the  page  what  the  original  was.  Moss, 
seaweed,  an  aphide,  or  whatever  it  happened  to 
be." 

"What  a  pretty  idea!"  said  Phil. 

447 


"Of  course,  you  don't  want  to  do  it,  though,'* 
she  went  on  in  a  different  tone.  "Just  as  your 
studio  is  finished,  and  you  are  aching  to  paint." 

"It's  good  of  you  to  think  of  me,"  replied  the 
artist  warmly.  "I  don't  know  that  I  could  do 
that  work.  I  should  have  to  satisfy  Mr.  Tre- 
maine  with  a  sample.  We  could  n't  put  our  edu- 
cational tips  on  the  pictures,  but  there  could  be 
a  thin  cover  for  each  illustration  with  the  de- 
scription on  a  corner  of  that." 

"Oh,  yes,  much  better,"  agreed  Kathleen. 

They  talked  a  little  longer  and  the  splendid 
tide  suddenly  splashed  them  with  glittering 
spray. 

"A  broad  hint,"  laughed  Kathleen,  springing 
up.  "We  must  go  back." 

Phil  sighed.  "I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  and  get- 
ting reluctantly  to  his  feet,  he  started  to  give 
his  hand  to  Kathleen,  then  remembering  that 
she  preferred  independence,  he  picked  up  the 
cushions  and  started  ahead  of  her. 

They  had  nearly  crossed  the  rocks  when  a  cry 
from  her  arrested  him. 

He  turned.  She  had  sunk  down  in  the  moon- 
light. 

"Oh,  how  dull  of  me!"  she  cried.  "I'm  used 
to  my  rubber-soled  shoes." 

448 


By  Moonlight 

"What!  Turned  your  ankle?"  Phil  flung  the 
cushions  over  upon  the  grass,  and  hurried  to 
her. 

"I'm  afraid  so." 

"I  ought  to  have  helped  you,"  said  Phil,  with 
contrition,  "but  I  thought  you  preferred  - 

"I  do.  I'm  a  regular  mountain  goat." 
Kathleen  was  half  laughing  in  a  way  that 
showed  her  pain. 

Phil  lifted  her  gently,  and  she  went  on :  - 

"Everybody  knows  nowadays  that  the  best 
way  to  treat  a  strain  is  to  walk  right  ahead. 
Oh!" 

"Yes,  that  may  do  on  flat  ground,"  said 
Phil;  "I'm  a  mountain  goat  too,  so  don't  be 
afraid  ";  and,  lifting  her  in  his  arms,  he  carried 
her  over  the  remaining  rocks  and  set  her  down 
upon  the  grassy  bank. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

TIDES 

PHILIP  paused  a  moment  when  he  reached  the 
grassy  bank. 

"You're  quite  sure  you  wish  to  walk?"  he 
said. 

"I  certainly  am,"  she  returned  with  an  effort 
at  lightness.  "It 's  the  best  thing  I  can  do,  now 
that  I've  been  so  careless." 

He  set  her  down  gently,  and  picked  up  the 
cushions  with  one  hand  while  he  put  the  other 
under  her  arm,  and  they  started ;  but  there  was 
no  path;  the  points  of  granite  and  the  grassy 
hummocks  made  difficult  walking  for  sound 
feet.  Phil  felt  his  companion's  sudden  limps  and 
cringes,  the  while  she  was  talking  valiantly  of 
the  satisfaction  it  was  to  feel  that  a  little  pain 
did  n't  matter,  so  long  as  one  knew  that  the 
best  thing  for  a  strain  was  exercise;  but  all  the 
time  it  seemed  to  her  that  home  was  miles  away, 
and  that  this  Transgressors'  Boulevard  would 
never  end. 

Phil  smiled  down  at  the  dark  uncovered  head 
450 


Tides 

so  near  his  shoulder;  then  as  she  sank  in  an  un- 
expected hollow :  - 

"Pluck  is  all  very  well,  Kathleen,"  he  said, 
"but  I  'm  going  to  pick  you  up  again." 

"No,  no,  Phil!  You  could  never  carry  me 
home.  I  'm  much  too  heavy  to  be  doing  these 
foolish  things."  Tears  of  vexation  stood  in  the 
girl's  eyes. 

"I  needn't  carry  you  home,"  he  returned 
quietly,  "but  it  is  all  my  fault  that  you  slipped. 
As  soon  as  we  get  to  level  ground  you  shall  try 
again.  Cushions  will  be  safe  in  Arcadia,  I  fancy," 
he  added,  storing  them  at  the  foot  of  a  rock  they 
were  passing.  "I  can  come  back  for  them." 

"Put  this  heavy  polo  coat  with  them,"  said 
Kathleen,  trying  not  to  cry.  "No  need  of  carry- 
ing any  more  than  you  have  to.  Oh,  Phil, 
really!  I  could  hop.  Could  n't  I  hop  if  you  lifted 
me  on  one  side?" 

"We'll  hop,  skip,  and  jump  when  we  get 
on  the  level,"  he  returned,  wrapping  the  coat 
carefully  about  her,  and  taking  her  up  again. 

"Put  your  arm  around  my  neck,  please. 
There  we  are."  He  moved  on  at  a  good  pace. 
"Can't  you  feel  that  it's  easy?" 

"I'm  so  ashamed  to  make  you  this  trouble." 
Kathleen's  lip  quivered. 
451 


The  Inner  Flame 

"I'm  so  ashamed  that  you  are  hurt,  but  I 
need  the  exercise,"  rejoined  her  bearer.  "What 
am  I  going  to  do  now  that  I  don't  have  to  strug- 
gle with  the  Villa?  Have  you  a  rowboat?" 

"Yes,"  returned  Kathleen,  in  a  small  voice. 

They  were  approaching  a  cottage  with  sight- 
less midnight  eyes.  She  had  no  idea  what  time 
it  was,  but  devoutly  hoped  they  were  the  only 
persons  awake  on  the  island.  It  was  ridiculous 
to  be  carried  about  like  this,  and  a  terrible  im- 
position on  an  innocent  guest;  but  how  wonder- 
ful he  was,  striding  along  from  hummock  to 
hummock  with  apparent  ease. 

"Then  I'll  do  some  rowing,  if  you'll  let  me. 
Do  you  like  to  row?" 

"Yes,"  came  again  in  such  a  small,  choked 
voice,  that  Phil  suddenly  turned  his  head  and 
his  face  came  close  to  Kathleen's.  The  elegant 
remote  Miss  Fabian,  with  the  slumbrous  eyes 
and  the  red-brown  hair,  was  a  helpless  child  in 
his  arms. 

"Are  you  suffering?"  he  asked,  and  such  a 
note  of  tenderness  sounded  suddenly  in  his 
voice  that  the  girl's  heart  gave  a  great  throb. 

"Only  in  my  mind,"  she  faltered,  trying  to 
laugh.  "You  '11  set  me  down  as  soon  as  we  reach 
the  point,  won't  you?   It's  easy  from  there." 
452 


Tides 

It  was  not  very  easy  from  there,  but  Kathleen 
set  her  teeth,  and  walked  it,  leaning  on  Phil's 
arm,  and  sometimes  stopping  to  rest. 

"And  I  thought  it  was  such  a  small  island," 
she  said  with  a  little  sighing  laugh  when  at  last 
the  home  piazza  was  reached. 

Philip  helped  her  upstairs  to  her  room. 

"Shall  I  knock  on  your  mother's  door?"  he 
asked. 

"No,  indeed.  I  can  get  on  perfectly  well 
now."  She  held  out  her  hand.  "Will  you  for- 
give me?" 

He  took  it  and  looked  straight  into  her  eyes 
without  speaking. 

For  an  instant  he  held  her  hand,  still  mute, 
then  turned,  and  instead  of  going  to  his  room 
went  downstairs  again. 

Kathleen,  closing  her  door  softly,  heard  him. 
She  stood  a  moment  perfectly  still,  her  lam- 
bent eyes  looking  into  space,  the  long  straight 
lines  of  her  white  coat  shining  in  the  dim 
room. 

"  If  it  should  be ! "  she  thought  with  awe.  "  If 
it  should  be!" 

Philip  went  out  on  the  porch.   The  tide  was 
receding  and  dragging  in  and  out  the  stones  of 
the  beach.  He  frowned  thoughtfully  at  the  roll- 
453 


The  Inner  Flame 

ing  expanse.  "This  is  disturbing,"  he  reflected. 
His  blood  was  pumping  and  dragging  mightily 
at  locked  doors  of  his  own  which  he  knew  must 
be  locked  for  years  to  come. 

"And  even  then  it  cannot  be  Kathleen  who 
opens  them,"  he  reminded  himself.  While  she 
was  flashing  about  to  fashionable  functions 
in  her  limousine  the  coming  season,  he  would 
still  be  planning  which  meal  to  make  the  sub- 
stantial one  of  the  day. 

"The  cushions!"  he  thought  suddenly,  and, 
finding  relief  in  action,  he  began  running  back 
with  long,  even  strides,  through  the  silent,  sil- 
vered fields. 

Before  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning  Edgar 
presented  himself  at  the  farmhouse  to  make 
inquiries  for  the  invalid.  He  was  eager  to  begin 
treating  Violet  right ;  and  as  a  commencement  he 
brought  a  box  of  bonbons  which  he  had  ordered 
from  the  city  before  that  resolution  was  made. 
However,  flowers  and  candy  were  conventional 
attentions.  So  were  books.  He  reflected  that 
no  one  could  criticize  his  giving  Violet  a 
marked  copy  of  Tennyson. 

"She  isn't  here,"  Mrs.  Wright  told  him 
when  he  reached  the  house.  "She  has  gone 

454 


Tides 

somewhere  to  get  an  extra  coat  of  tan  and  see 
the  tide  come  in." 

"Why  didn't  I  come  sooner!"  exclaimed 
Edgar,  vexed.  "I  thought  her  headache  —  I 
thought  she  would  n't  be  up  early." 

"Oh,  I  think  you  must  have  exorcised  that 
last  night,"  said  Mrs.  Wright.  "How  we  all 
enjoyed  the  medicine!  Will  you  promise  to  sing 
every  night  if  one  of  us  will  fall  ill?" 

Edgar  smiled  and  twisted  his  mustache. 
"We  have  a  lame  duck  over  at  our  house,"  he 
said.  "Kathleen  managed  to  slip  on  the  rocks 
last  night.  She 's  as  plucky  as  they  make  'em, 
though.  She's  limping  around.  Phil  was  with 
her  —  not  very  bright  of  him,  I  must  say." 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry  he  has  that  cloud  over  his 
first  morning  at  the  studio,"  returned  Mrs. 
Wright.  "I  saw  him  go  in  there  an  hour 
ago." 

"You're  sure  Violet  is  n't  there?"  asked  Ed- 
gar quickly. 

"Oh,  perfectly,"  rejoined  Mrs.Wrightquietly. 
"We're  as  much  warned  off  the  Villa  as  ever, 
now,  you  know.  I  hope  he  is  going  to  do  great 
things." 

"Yes,  I  hope  so,"  said  Edgar  absently.  "This 
full  sunlight  is  n't  particularly  good  for  Violet's 
455 


The  Inner  Flame 

head.  Don't  you  think  I'd  better  find  her  and 
get  her  out  of  it?" 

"Oh,  it's  the  steadiest  little  head  in  the  world. 
Last  night  was  simply  the  exception  that  proves 
the  rule." 

"Well,  then,  she'll  be  fit  for  tennis.  I'm  go- 
ing to  find  her  and  see  if  we  can't  have  some 
singles  before  dinner." 

"All  right,  if  you  can  find  her." 

Edgar  tossed  his  head.  "Perhaps  I  could  n't 
put  a  girdle  'round  the  earth,  but  this  island's 
a  cinch " ;  and  with  the  beribboned  box  under 
his  arm  and  the  sun  glinting  on  his  polished  blond 
head,  Edgar  set  off  running  toward  the  rocks 
where  Kathleen  had  met  her  slip. 

Perhaps,  he  reflected,  it  was  just  as  well  that 
Violet  had  been  hors  de  combat  last  evening.  If 
they  had  come  down  here  in  the  moonlight,  and 
he  had  sung,  and  she  had  turned  upon  him  that 
wonderful,  confiding,  devout  look  which  warmed 
every  fibre  of  his  vanity,  there  is  no  telling 
what  he  might  have  said  or  done.  He  was 
shrewd  enough  to  know  that  Mrs.  Larrabee's 
rebuff  had  caused  a  rebound  in  which  just  such 
an  innocent,  womanly  girl  as  Violet  Manning 
could  catch  his  heart  in  both  hands.  She  had 
laughed  at  him  yesterday  afternoon,  and  to 
456 


Tides 

force  her  to  capitulate  he  might  have  done 
something  foolish  in  the  evening.  Now  that 
pitfall  —  the  time,  the  place,  and  the  girl  - 
was  past,  and  the  bright  clear  winds  of  morning 
found  him  forewarned  and  forearmed;  but 
friendly,  perfectly  friendly.  He  thoroughly 
liked  Violet  Manning. 

All  this  time  he  was  running  toward  the  show- 
place  at  high  tide,  the  precipitous  rocks  whose 
walls  and  crannies  repulsed  the  crashing  waves, 
causing  a  never-ending  series  of  fountains,  and 
cascades  of  crystal  water. 

A  few  penguins  in  shade  hats  studded  the 
heights  this  morning,  but  Violet  was  not  among 
them.  He  walked  past  slowly,  scanning  the 
rocks.  A  few  rods  farther  on,  a  small  harbor 
pierced  the  island's  side.  Its  farther  bank  was 
soft  with  evergreens;  a  sturdy  growth  of  tall 
spruces  which  fixed  their  roots  amid  the  in- 
hospitable rocks. 

An  artist  had  set  up  his  easel  on  the  near 
shore,  and  was  sitting  on  a  camp-stool  before 
it,  working  busily.  A  large  straw  hat  was 
crowded  down  to  the  tops  of  his  ears  to  thwart 
the  wind,  and  Edgar  wondered  who  might  be 
the  competitor  of  the  painter  who  was  working 
away  at  the  Villa  Chantecler.  He  glanced 
457 


The  Inner  Flame 

carelessly  at  the  artist  and  then  renewed  his 
scrutiny  of  the  rocks;  being  so  engrossed,  that 
the  next  time  his  gaze  went  forward,  he  saw  that 
a  girl  was  lying  on  the  rock  near  the  easel,  lean- 
ing on  her  elbow  and  alternately  watching  the 
artist  and  the  sea. 

Edgar  suspected  the  truth  with  a  wave  of 
anger.  How  could  Phil  be  in  two  places  at  once  ? 
He  had  allowed  Kathleen  to  slip  on  the  rocks. 
Probably  he  had  been  absent-minded.  This 
had  been  planned  for;  Mrs.  Wright  could  n't 
have  known  it. 

He  strode  forward. 

"Good  morning!"  he  said,  with  awe-inspiring 
dignity. 

"Oh,  hello,"  returned  Violet  carelessly,  turn- 
ing her  head  so  as  to  see  the  newcomer. 

Could  this  nonchalant  girl  be  she  who  had 
wept  at  the  window ! 

"I  went  over  to  the  house  to  see  how  you 
were,"  said  Edgar  severely,  "and  Mrs.  Wright 
said  you  were  watching  the  tide." 

"Yes,"  returned  Violet,  lazy  in  the  sun, 
"but  I  found  something  so  much  better  to 
watch." 

"You  can't  see  anything  from  there,"  de- 
clared Edgar,  speaking  crisply. 

458 


Tides 

"Do  you  allow  that,  Mr.  Sidney?"  asked  the 
girl. 

"I  allow  anything  but  people  to  talk  to  me," 
said  Phil,  busy  with  the  blues  and  greens  of  the 
water. 

"There,  you  see!"  said  Violet  accusingly. 
"He  hadn't  said  a  word  of  reproach  to  me  be- 
fore you  came";  and  the  little  minx  allowed 
herself  to  throw  a  devoted  glance  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  artist's  hat.  If  the  mouse  were 
going  ultimately  to  make  its  escape,  surely  the 
kitten  was  entitled  to  whatever  fun  it  could 
find  in  the  situation. 

Edgar  pulled  himself  together. 

"It's  great  just  now,"  he  said.  "Don't  you 
want  to  come  out  on  the  rocks,  and  see  the 
row?" 

Violet  shook  her  head  and  touched  her  finger 
to  her  lips  warningly. 

Edgar  scowled  and  looked  at  Phil's  swift 
brush.  Confound  the  girl,  how  was  he  to  treat 
her  magnanimously  if  she  would  n't  give  him 
an  opportunity? 

He  held  out  the  beribboned  box  and  raised 
his  eyebrows,  gesturing' with  his  head  toward 
the  rocks. 

"Is  there  a  string  tied  to  it?"  asked  Violet, 

459 


The  Inner  Flame 

with  a  saucy,  lazy  smile;  and  Edgar  lifted  his 
chin  superbly  and  tossed  the  box  into  her 
lap. 

"The  only  girl  here,"  she  reflected ;  for  she  felt 
tempted  to  be  flattered  by  the  implied  fore- 
thought. 

"How  perfectly  sweet,"  she  said  and  opened 
the  luxurious  box.  Rising  to  her  knees  she  lifted 
a  chocolate  in  the  little  tongs  and  put  it  in 
Philip's  mouth. 

"Mille  remerciments,"  he  mumbled;  "but 
don't  do  it  again,  please." 

"Phil  wants  to  be  alone,"  said  Edgar.  " Can't 
you  see  that?"  He  held  out  his  hand  to  Violet 
to  rise.  She  ignored  it,  but  rose  with  supple 
grace. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "  if  little  boys  will  come  and 
chatter  to  me,  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  go.  It's 
been  so  interesting,  Mr.  Sidney.  That's  going 
to  be  wonderful.  I  hope  you  '11  let  me  watch  you 
again  sometime." 

"You  didn  't  really  want  to  stay  there,  did 
you?"  asked  Edgar,  when  they  had  begun  to 
climb  out  on  the  rocks  at  a  point  where  there 
were  no  other  gazers. 

"Indeed  I  did,  marplot,"  returned  the  girl, 
"but  three's  a  crowd  when  one  is  painting." 
460 


Tides 

"Oh,  very  well,"  said  Edgar,  stiffly;  "I'll 
stay  away  the  next  time." 

"That's  right.  Do,"  returned  Violet.  "Have 
a  chocolate?  These  are  delicious." 

"No,  I  thank  you."  Edgar  gave  a  dark 
glance  at  his  companion.  He  did  not  like  her 
mood. 

"I  didn't  know  you  cared  more  for  painting 
than  for  music,"  he  said. 

"More?"  she  returned  with  wide  eyes.  "Oh, 
no,  I  'm  an  impartial  and  humble  admirer  of  all 
the  arts." 

Was  n't  she  going  to  speak  of  last  evening? 
He  stood  in  silence  beside  her  for  a  space  to 
give  her  opportunity;  but  she  was  engrossed  in 
munching  a  chocolate. 

"My!"  she  said,  regarding  the  heavy,  satin, 
heart-shaped  crimson  box  admiringly,  "I've 
gazed  at  these  with  awe  in  shop  windows,  and 
then  gone  in  and  bought  ten  cents  worth  in  a 
striped  bag.  I  feel  so  grand!" 

"I  was  disappointed  last  night,"  said  Ed- 
gar, his  gloomy  regard  changing  slowly  to  his 
best  look  of  devotion.  There  was  nothing  for 
him  in  Violet's  eyes  this  morning.  The  expres- 
sion he  craved  must  be  brought  back  in  order 
that  he  might  exercise  care  to  treat  her  fairly. 
461 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Because  I  couldn't  go  to  walk  with  Mr. 
Sidney?"  she  rejoined,  with  the  ironical  gayety 
Edgar  hated.  "I  was,  too;  but  your  charming 
serenade  almost  made  up  for  it." 

Edgar  ground  the  even  teeth.  "  I  suppose  it 
was  foolish  of  me  to  exert  myself,"  he  said.  "I 
probably  waked  you  up." 

"Oh,  it  did  n't  sound  like  the  least  bit  of 
exertion,"  replied  Violet.  "The  ease  of  your 
singing  is  really  its  great  charm.  You  did  n't 
mind  my  laughing,  right  at  the  end,  did  you?" 

"Laughing!" 

"Yes;  you  see  Miss  Foster  is  on  my  side  of 
the  house,  and  when  you  sang 

*  Turn  down  an  empty  glass,' 

I  knew  she'd  think  it  was  a  prohibition  song, 
and  I  nearly  suffocated." 

Edgar  met  her  dancing  eyes,  and  glared  at 
her  while  she  ate  a  chocolate  with  relish. 

"And  I  thought  you  were  temperamental!" 
he  muttered. 

"Do  you  wonder  really  that  Maine  is  a  pro- 
hibition state?"  she  asked  conversationally. 
"Here,  eat  this  peppermint  one  for  me.  I  don't 
like  them,"  and  the  even  teeth  opened  mechani- 
cally to  receive  the  bonbon  she  popped  between 

462 


Tides 

them.  "I  mean  because  it's  so  intoxicating 
here  anyway.  Why,  I  can  hardly  keep  my  feet 
still  this  morning";  and  as  they  were  standing, 
Violet,  on  her  flat  rock,  and  with  the  great  crim- 
son heart  pressed  to  her  breast,  began  to  clog. 

Edgar  half  unconsciously  moved  away  to 
where  he  could  see  her  nimble  feet.  "Whistle," 
she  laughed.  "Whistle,  and  I  won't  come  to 
you,  my  lad!" 

Edgar  whistled,  he  could  n't  help  it.  Her  fair 
hair  blowing,  her  sea-blue  eyes  shining,  and  her 
sure  feet  dancing,  she  seemed  the  incarnation 
of  the  radiant  morning.  He  found  himself  pat- 
ting in  rhythm,  and  whistling  like  a  bird  until 
she  tired  and  sank  in  a  blue  heap  on  the  rock. 

"Oh,  it's  a  jolly  world,"  she  cried. 

"And  you're  a  jolly  girl!"  he  exclaimed, 
striding  over  and  flinging  himself  down  beside 
her.  "Why  don't  you  teach  me  to  do  that  ?  You 
promised. " 

"  I  've  begun  twice,  have  n't  I  ?  You  have  n't 
any  patience." 

"Oh,  that  was  in  the  woods.  What  could  I  do 
on  a  hillside?  Teach  me  in  the  summer  house 
this  afternoon." 

"That's  where  you  ought  to  be  now,  prac- 
tising," said  Violet. 

463 


The  Inner  Flame 

"I've  put  in  half  an  hour  this  morning." 

"That  is  n't  enough.  It's  time  for  another." 

"Oh,  you  want  me  to  go,  do  you,  so  you  can 
go  back  and  watch  Phil?" 

"Well,  I  never  before  had  a  chance  to  see  the 
wheels  go  'round  in  a  painting.  Don't  you  think 
it's  wonderful?" 

"Yes,  he's  a  wizard.  It's  a  pity  you  could  n't 
go  with  him  last  night.  He  took  Kath  and  she 
managed  to  turn  her  ankle." 

"  So  he  has  been  telling  me.  I  'm  sorry.  So 
you'd  rather  have  had  mine  turned?  Then  I 
could  n't  have  taught  you  to  clog,  remember." 

"No ;  he  might  not  have  gone  mooning  around 
then.  He  might  have  paid  more  attention  to 
you" 

Violet  glanced  at  the  speaker  out  of  the  tail  of 
her  eye  and  ate  a  chocolate.  Then  she  cast  a 
look  over  on  the  point  where  the  easel  stood. 
"He  is  so  good-looking,"  she  sighed.  "I  like 
smooth-faced  men." 

"My  mustache  is  catching  it  next,  is  it?"  said 
Edgar  irritably,  twisting  that  treasure. 

"Oh,  I  simply  despise  mustaches,"  rejoined 
Violet  equably;  "but  of  course  if  it  makes  you 
look  older,  or  more  dignified,  or  helps  you  in 
your  career,  you  have  to  wear  one." 

464 


Tides 

"I  don't  know  as  there's  any  'have  to'  about 
it,"  returned  Edgar.  "It's  just  a  matter  of 
taste  with  me";  he  made  the  addition  with  a 
superior  carelessness. 

"So  it  is  with  me,"  returned  Violet  with 
engaging  frankness.  "Here's  another  pepper- 
mint." She  picked  it  up  in  the  silver  tongs. 
"Open  your  mouth  and  shut  your  eyes  and  I  '11 
give  you  something  to  make  you  wise." 

Edgar  jerked  back  his  head,  seized  the  con- 
fection in  his  fingers,  and  scaled  it  across  the 
rocks. 

"I  loathe  peppermint,"  he  said  shortly,  "and 
as  for  making  me  wise,  you're  making  me  wiser 
every  day.  Will  you,  or  will  you  not  give  me 
a  lesson  in  clogging  this  afternoon?" 

"I  will!"  returned  Violet,  dramatically. 
"You  paid  partly  in  advance  last  night,  and 
I'm  the  soul  of  honor!" 

He  met  her  mischievous  eyes  with  a  baffled 
look.  He  longed  to  shake  her.  His  hand  lifted 
mechanically  to  his  mustache  and  dropped 
again.  He  had  lost  faith  in  that,  too. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE   SON 

WHEN  Philip  returned  to  dinner  that  day  he 
found  a  strange  man  sitting  on  the  veranda  with 
Kathleen.  The  table  beside  her  was  filled  with 
loose  sheets  of  paper,  and  she  was  reading  aloud. 

As  Phil  approached  she  looked  up. 

"  We  spoke  of  an  angel  last  night,"  she  said, 
"and  lo,  he  appeared  to-day.  This  is  Mr.  Tre- 
maine,  and  he  knows  you  already." 

Phil  laid  down  his  impedimenta  and  his  hat, 
and  shook  hands. 

The  grey-eyed  portly  stranger  smiled  as  they 
greeted.  "  Miss  Fabian  has  told  me  so  much 
about  you,"  he  said,  "that  I  am  wondering  if 
you  belong  to  the  Sidneys  who  took  me  in  in  the 
mountains  of  Montana  one  night  five  or  six 
years  ago." 

Philip's  perfunctory  gaze  quickened. 

"And  you  left  my  mother  a  little  book?"  he 
asked  quickly. 

The  pressure  of  the  newcomer's  handclasp 
tightened.  He  nodded. 

466 


The  Son 

"The  very  same,"  he  said.  "And  you  do  be- 
long to  that  charming  woman." 

"You  did  a  great  deal  for  us, Mr.  Tremaine," 
said  Phil  heartily. 

"And  this  Kathleen  child  says  we  're  not 
through  with  each  other.  She  wants  you  to  il- 
lustrate this  clever  little  book  of  hers." 

"If  he  will,"  put  in  the  girl  quickly.  "You 
don't  know  yet  what  small  business  it  will  be 
for  him  to  picture  my  stuff.  Show  us  what  you 
have  done  this  morning." 

"  I  hear  you  are  my  neighbor  in  Gramercy 
Park,"  said  Mr.  Tremaine  while  Phil  stooped  to 
get  his  picture.  "I  hear  that  the  artist  who  did 
my  son's  treasure,  'The  Proud  Robin,'  stands 
before  me." 

Phil  laughed  and  turned  his  canvas  about. 
A  great  wave  uplifted  its  heavy  snowy  crest, 
just  at  the  point  of  breaking  into  rushing  surge. 

"  Stand  back,"  cried  Kathleen, "  it 's  coming ! " 
Her  cheeks  reddened.  "You  do  such  true 
things,  Phil!" 

"Upon  my  word!"  said  Mr.  Tremaine,  "  Miss 
Fabian  is  right.  That's  really  great,  Mr.  Sidney. 
One  gets  the  weight  of  the  water.  I  think  the 
breadth  and  perception  of  the  mountains 
helped  you  in  that.  How  long  have  you  been 
467 


The  Inner  Flame 

so  intimate  with  the  physiognomy  of  old 
Ocean?" 

"  I  have  been  at  this  off  and  on  for  some  days 
in  time  stolen  from  house  decoration." 

"There  is  time  before  dinner,"  said  Kath- 
leen, "and  Mr.  Tremaine  is  going  to  stay  such 
a  little  while,  take  him  over  to  the  Villa.  I  want 
him  to  be  sure  to  see  it  though  I  begrudge  his 
seeing  it  without  me,  too!" 

"Sure  you  can't  go?"  asked  Mr.  Tremaine. 

Kathleen  looked  ruefully  at  her  right  foot, 
wearing  a  loose  slipper  of  her  mother's. 

"That  field  is  so  rough,"  she  said. 

"  We  '11  make  an  armchair,"  said  Phil. 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  "No,  I'll  gather  up 
my  book.  Mr.  Tremaine  likes  it,  so  I  'm  happy 
though  lame,  and  you  must  talk  over  the  illus- 
trations together." 

In  truth  she  was  glad  that  these  two  should 
have  the  opportunity  for  a  tete-a-tete  and  she 
smiled  happily  to  herself  as  she  picked  up  the 
flying  sheets.  There  was  color  in  her  cheeks, 
the  rose-color  that  seemed  this  morning  to  tinge 
the  universe.  It  was  such  a  beautiful  world,  and 
for  Mr.  Tremaine  suddenly  to  appear  and  to  ap- 
prove her  work  and  to  meet  Phil —  Phil  whose 
eyes  had  seemed  this  morning  always  to  see  her 

468 


The  Son 

and  regard  her  reflectively,  instead  of  looking 
over  or  through  her  —  all  this  made  a  wonder- 
ful combination,  a  strange,  sweet  expectancy, 
as  of  harmonious  progressions  which  could  but 
resolve  into  one  triumphant  chord. 

The  dinner  hour  approached  and  Mrs.  Fa- 
bian came  out  on  the  piazza. 

"How  are  you,  poor  child?"  she  asked  with 
commiseration;  then  meeting  Kathleen's  eyes, 
she  laughed.  "Here  I  am  pitying  you,  and  you 
look  as  if  you'd  been  left  a  million.  What  is  it? 
Is  Mr.  Tremaine  so  pleased  with  your  stories  ? " 

"He  thinks  they'll  do,"  returned  Kathleen. 

"Very  modest,"  said  Mrs.  Fabian;  "but  I'm 
quite  sure  from  your  looks  that  he  said  you  were 
a  second  Hans  Christian  Andersen.  Keeping 
it  a  secret  from  me,  too!  I 'm  a  very  good  judge 
of  stories,  and  you  might  have  asked  my  opinion 
about  those,  at  any  rate." 

"I  felt  very  shy  about  it,  mother,  but  now 
I'm  just  bubbling  with  encouragement;  and 
perhaps  Phil  will  make  the  pictures." 

Mrs.  Fabian  regarded  the  rosy  face  admir- 
ingly. 

"There,  you  see  his  business  is  coming  along, 
and  this  morning  I  gave  him  the  commission  to 
paint  our  portraits." 

469 


The  Inner  Flame 

Even  this  news  could  not  dampen  Kathleen's 
present  mood. 

"Yours,"  she  returned.  "Remember,  I  told 
you  I  refused  to  be  perpetuated  as  I  look  now." 

"I  never  saw  you  look  as  pretty  as  you  do 
to-day,  in  your  whole  life,"  said  Mrs.  Fabian, 
gazing  as  she  spoke. 

The  girl  laughed  from  sheer  satisfaction.  "  Is 
the  big  head  so  becoming?"  she  returned. 

"  I  saw  Phil  taking  Mr.  Tremaine  over  to  the 
studio,"  said  Mrs.  Fabian.  "Edgar  said  this 
morning  he  wanted  to  bring  Violet  to  dinner. 
He  will  be  surprised  to  find  Mr.  Tremaine  here. 
We  shall  have  quite  a  party.  I  hope  they  won't 
all  be  late.  If  Phil  and  Mr.  Tremaine  get  to 
talking  over  at  the  studio  they  won't  know 
what  time  it  is." 

The  air  at  the  island,  however,  was  of  a  na- 
ture to  create  an  inner  monitor  which  called  to 
dinner,  so  the  two  couples  soon  approached 
from  opposite  directions.  Mr.  Tremaine  and 
Phil  were  talking  busily  as  they  came,  and 
Kathleen  noted  Violet's  crimson  heart  while 
she  drew  near.  She  gazed  questioningly  at  her 
brother  whose  alert  happy  face  turned  red  as 
he  met  her  eyes;  but  Violet  was  self-possessed 
when  Kathleen  greeted  her. 

470 


The  Son 

"Pardon  my  remaining  enthroned,  Violet," 
she  said.  "I'm  not  precisely  wasting  steps  to- 
day." 

"I  heard  about  it,"  returned  the  guest,  com- 
ing up  the  steps  and  meeting  Mrs.  Fabian.  "I 
do  hope  it's  nothing  serious." 

"No,  indeed.   I  shall  soon  forget  it." 

"  I  suppose  neither  of  you  will  have  a  choco- 
late before  dessert,  but  they're  very  very  good." 
Violet  opened  the  box  temptingly  as  she  took 
a  seat  beside  Kathleen. 

"Who  is  that  coming  with  Phil?"  asked 
Edgar. 

"My  publisher,"  returned  Kathleen,  proudly. 
"Just  think,  Edgar!  I've  written  some  stories, 
and  Mr.  Tremaine  has  accepted  them!" 

Edgar  lifted  his  eyebrows  and  smiled  won- 
deringly  into  his  sister's  happy  face.  "Good 
work,  Kath!  It  may  really  pay  to  be  a 
highbrow.  Why  have  you  kept  so  still  about 
it?" 

"Oh,  that  was  natural.  Supposing  Mr.  Tre- 
maine had  said, '  You  're  a  nice  child,  Kathleen, 
but  your  little  yarns  are  trash.'  How  then! 
Should  n't  I  be  glad  nobody  saw  me  hide  my 
diminished  head?" 

Edgar  continued  to  regard  her  curiously.  He 
471 


The  Inner  Flame 

had  never  before  noticed  how  really  good-look- 
ing Kath  was. 

Violet  expressed  her  interest  and  sympathy 
heartily,  and  while  she  was  speaking,  the  other 
guests  arrived  and  Mr.  Tremaine  met  his  son's 
dancing-teacher  with  pleasure. 

It  was  a  gay  dinner-party,  and  Kathleen 
glowed  with  satisfaction  in  Mr.  Tremaine's 
manifest  interest  in  Phil.  He  could  be  such  a 
useful  friend. 

They  had  coffee  on  the  veranda,  and  while 
Edgar  was  planning  in  what  manner  and  how 
soon  he  could  segregate  himself  and  Violet  in  the 
summer  house,  the  boy  whose  duty  it  was  to 
bring  the  mail  appeared  with  the  letters.  At  a 
sign  from  Mrs.  Fabian  he  handed  them  to  her. 

She  ran  them  over  with  a  smile.  "  I  'm  always 
impolite,"  she  said,  "when  Mr.  Fabian's  letter 
comes,  and  I  think  everybody  will  forgive  me." 
She  laid  the  others  on  the  rail  beside  her  and 
opened  the  letter  she  held. 

"  I  'm  hoping  so  much  he  will  set  the  day  for 
coming." 

The  smiling  expectancy  of  her  face  gave  way 
to  bewilderment  and  incredulity  as  she  read.  No 
one  observed  it,  for  Kathleen  had  started  to 
tell  an  island  adventure. 

472 


The  Son 

Her  mother's  voice  broke  in  upon  the  tale. 

"Kathleen!"  she  said  breathlessly,  "I  don't 
understand  this  letter.  Father  is  in  trouble  of 
some  kind.  He  is  trying  to  comfort  me.  He  says 
to  ask  you  — 

Mrs.  Fabian  looked  up  at  Kathleen  whose 
face  was  transformed  while  her  mother  spoke. 
The  color  left  it,  the  laughing  eyes  grew  startled, 
and  she  tried  to  rise. 

Phil  sprang  to  his  feet,  "What  do  you  want, 
Kathleen?" 

"The  letters!"  she  said.  "See  if  there  is  one 
forme?" 

Edgar,  who  had  been  observing  how  re- 
markably good  was  the  line  of  Violet's  hair  at 
the  nape  of  her  neck,  brought  his  thoughts  back 
with  difficulty  to  his  sister.  Kath  was  looking 
frightened.  What  was  the  matter? 

Mr.  Tremaine  leaned  forward  in  his  chair  and 
looked  with  serious  questioning  at  Kathleen 
while  she  tore  open  a  letter  from  her  father.  Her 
brow  drew  together  as  she  read.  Mrs.  Fabian 
regarded  her  helplessly,  two  sheets  of  paper 
blowing  in  her  fingers. 

When  finally  the  girl  dropped  her  letter  her 
face  had  flushed  again.  She  rose  from  her  chair 
with  difficulty. 

473 


The  Inner  Flame 

"I  must  go  to  father  immediately,"  she  said. 

Phil  was  at  her  side  in  an  instant.  "You 
can't  do  that,"  he  returned,  "but  you  can 
send  me." 

Mrs.  Fabian's  lips  were  parted.  Edgar 
frowned  and  looked  from  one  to  another;  then 
he  too  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  What  is  this,  Kath  ? "  he  asked  with  sudden 
authority. 

His  sister  regarded  him  absently.  Edgar 
would  suffer,  of  course,  but  just  now,  in  the 
crucial  moment,  he  did  n't  count;  and  she!  Oh, 
how  could  fate  have  been  so  unkind  as  to  ham- 
per her  at  the  only  time  in  her  life  when  it 
would  make  any  difference!  A  time  when  she 
longed  for  wings  to  carry  her  to  her  father's  side 
and  let  her  throw  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

She  looked  at  Edgar's  frowning,  questioning 
face  with  curious  vagueness. 

"  Father  has  lost  a  great  deal  of  money,"  she 
said,  "and  friends  as  well,  because  he  would  not 
yield  to  plans  which  he  considered  dishonorable. 
He  told  me  before  we  left  that  it  might  come; 
but  he  had  no  idea  the  crisis  was  right  upon 
him.  Oh,  I  must,  I  must  go  to  father — at  once 
—  at  once!"  The  girl  limped  toward  the  door. 

"You  can't  go  to-day,"  said  Phil  decidedly, 
474. 


The  Son 

"but  I  can.  I  will  go  on  this  next  boat  with  Mr. 
Tremaine.  Tell  me  what — 

"  What  are  you  talking  about ! "  It  was  Edgar 
who  spoke,  and  his  tone  turned  every  eye  upon 
him.  His  nostrils  were  dilated  and  his  eyes 
looked  dark.  "Father  in  trouble!  I'm  going  to 
him,  of  course." 

He  tried  to  speak  quietly,  but  there  was  a 
thrill  in  his  tone  that  echoed  in  Kathleen's  heart. 
She  knew  as  she  looked  at  the  new  stern  expres- 
sion of  the  debonair  countenance  that  in  that 
minute  the  boy  had  become  a  man. 

Violet  gazed  at  him  with  a  swelling  heart 
and  swept  poor  Phil  with  a  supercilious  glance 
wholly  undeserved,  but  of  which  he  was  uncon- 
scious. 

Edgar  hastened  into  the  house  to  make  his 
preparations  and  Kathleen  and  Phil  exchanged 
a  look. 

" It's  all  for  the  best,"  said  Phil  in  a  low  tone. 
"Edgar  will  find  himself." 

Kathleen's  hands  were  clasped  on  her  breast. 
Mrs.  Fabian  regarded  her  beseechingly.  "  What 
do  you  mean?"  she  cried,  her  voice  breaking 
hysterically.  "  Money  and  friends !  What  do 
you  mean?" 

Kathleen  sank  into  the  chair  beside  her.  "  I 
475 


The  Inner  Flame 

mean  that  father  is  an  honest  man,"  she  said 
proudly. 

Mr.  Tremaine  came  to  Mrs.  Fabian's  other 
side.  "I  was  at  college  with  your  husband,"  he 
said.  "Henry  Fabian  was  always  doing  fine 
things.  I  suspect  that  this  last  move,  whatever 
it  is,  is  one  of  the  finest.  I  would  trust  him  be- 
fore I  would  myself." 

Mrs.  Fabian  looked  from  one  to  the  other, 
tears  running  down  her  cheeks. 

"I  can't  have  my  portrait  painted,  Phil,"  she 
faltered.  "We're  very  poor." 

Phil  knelt  dowTi  before  her  and  put  his  arms 
around  her  and  she  rested  her  head  on  his  shoul- 
der and  sobbed  quietly. 

"  Perhaps  not  poor,"  he  said ; "  but  what  if  you 
are,  Aunt  Isabel?  Look  about  at  this  beautiful 
place  with  everything  to  make  people  happy. 
Health  and  freedom  and  honor  beside;  and  Ed- 
gar will  bring  his  father  here  and  everything  will 
straighten  out  and  we  shall  make  him  forget  his 
troubles." 

"No  motor,  Phil,"  came  from  the  sobbing  wo- 
man. "I  can't  imagine  living  without  a  motor." 

"  Indeed  you  can.  You  're  going  to  show  Mr. 
Fabian  what  a  good  sport  he  married ;  and  we  're 
all  going  to  cheer  him  up  and  make  him  forget 

476 


The  Son 

his  nightmare  before  fall.  You  have  everything 
that's  real  left — unless  Mr.  Fabian  breaks 
down  under  this  strain',"  added  Phil  artfully. 

He  had  struck  the  right  note.  Mrs.  Fabian 
lifted  her  head  and  wiped  her  eyes  wildly.  "  I  'm 
going  with  Edgar,"  she  cried.  "  Henry  may  be 
ill.  I  shall  go." 

"No,  dear  mother,"  said  Kathleen,  gently 
taking  her  hand.  "Let  Edgar  manage  this 
alone.  He  will  wire  us  at  once." 

It  was  nearly  time  for  the  boat  and  Edgar 
came  out  of  the  house  with  his  bag.  All  his 
machinations  of  the  morning  had  not  succeeded 
in  bringing  to  Violet's  eyes  the  expression  that 
grew  there  when  she  saw  him  ready  to  start  on 
his  hard  journey.  Speechless  and  unsmiling  he 
pressed  her  hand,  then  kissed  his  mother  and 
listened  to  her  exhortations.  Mr.  Tremaine  was 
ready,  and  together  they  started  toward  the- 
wharf. 

Philip  was  going  to  accompany  them,  but  his 
aunt  clung  to  him. 

"Stay  with  us,  Phil,"  she  begged.  "You  are 
my  son,  too." 

Mr.  Fabian,  heavy-lidded  from  a  sleepless 
night,  was  working  at  the  desk  in  his  private 

477 


The  Inner  Flame 

office,  when  the  door  opened  and  closed  quietly 
and  quickly,  and  he  looked  up  to  see  Edgar 
standing  beside  him.  An  added  cloud  passed 
over  his  face. 

The  young  man  saw  it  and  he  paid  for  many 
a  misdemeanor  in  the  pang  it  gave  him. 

"Father,  I  Ve  come  to  see  if  I  can  be  of  any 
use,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Fabian  pushed  his  chair  back  and  looked 
up  at  his  visitor,  the  deep  line  in  his  forehead 
deeper. 

"  I  know  I  have  no  experience,  and  little  busi- 
ness sense;  but  if  you'll  take  the  trouble  to  ex- 
plain the  situation  to  me,  I  '11  try  to  understand 
as  I've  never  before  tried  to  do  anything;  and 
I  can  at  least  carry  out  your  instructions  to  the 
letter." 

Mr.  Fabian  continued  to  gaze  up  into  the  sun- 
burned face  and  the  eyes  that  regarded  him 
with  steady  purpose. 

"I've  lost  a  lot  of  money  for  you,  my  boy," 
he  said.  "Quite  a  half  of  everything  I  pos- 
sessed." 

"And  come  out  clean,"  returned  the  other 
promptly.  "Good  for  you." 

Mr.  Fabian  kept  silence,  studying  him  for 
another  space. 

478 


The  Son 

"My  son,"  he  said  at  last,  slowly,  as  if  to  him- 
self. "I  have  a  son";  and  he  held  out  his  hand. 

Edgar  clasped  it  in  silence.  Then  he  spoke 
again.  "I  haven't  had  any  breakfast,  and  of 
course  I  could  n't  sleep;  so  my  head  is  n't  worth 
much  just  now.  Can  you  spare  time  to  come 
out  and  talk  to  me  while  I  eat,  or  shall  I  go 
alone?" 

Mr.  Fabian  rose  and  his  heavy  eyes  had 
brightened.  "Neither  of  us  will  go  alone,  after 
this,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

A  TIDAL  WAVE 

MR.  FABIAN'S  firm  stand  resulted  in  a  dissolu- 
tion of  his  partnership,  and  very  soon  he  was 
able  to  repair  with  Edgar  to  the  island. 

The  son  had  found  the  man-to-man  relation- 
ship with  his  father  a  strangely  sweet  one;  and 
by  the  time  they  reached  the  island  —  so  deeply 
had  his  father's  steadfastness  and  suffering 
worked  upon  Edgar,  he  had  no  other  plan  than 
that  of  rejuvenating  the  tired  man's  strained 
nerves.  Therefore,  when  Mr.  Fabian  reached 
the  heavenly  calm  of  his  hill  cottage,  he  found 
his  wife  and  daughter  ready  to  accompany  him 
on  a  cruise.  Mrs.  Fabian,  lukewarm  sailor 
though  she  was,  was  as  fully  prepared  as  Kath- 
leen; and  with  scarcely  any  delay  they  all 
started  out  on  the  yacht.  Mr.  Fabian  urged 
Phil  to  join  the  party,  but  he  could  not  leave 
his  work,  and  in  any  case  would  not  add  himself 
to  a  family  party  at  this  time.  He  and  Violet 
stood  on  the  shore  and  watched  the  white  sails 
swell  as  they  caught  the  wind. 

480 


A  Tidal  Wave 

Edgar  had  been  so  absorbed  in  his  father  and 
his  plans  that  she  had  but  a  flying  glimpse  of 
him  after  his  return  from  New  York;  but  it 
flattered  her  to  observe  that  he  had  left  his 
mustache  in  the  metropolis. 

Philip's  assiduous  work  during  the  summer 
resulted  in  finished  pictures  and  numerous 
sketches,  all  of  which  he  carried  back  in  the 
autumn  to  the  stable  where  Pat  met  him  with 
effusion. 

"Sure  't  is  a  red  Injun  ye  are!"  he  exclaimed 
at  sight  of  his  lodger's  mahogany  tints. 

"Yes,  and  next  summer,  Pat,  if  I'm  not  a 
pauper,  you  're  coming  up  there  to  get  a  red  nose, 
too,"  responded  Phil. 

The  first  step  toward  independence  had  been 
made.  He  had  finished  the  illustrations  for 
Kathleen's  fairy  tales,  and  but  a  few  days  after 
his  return,  Mr.  Tremaine  came  to  the  studio 
to  welcome  him  and  show  him  the  first  copy  of 
the  book;  for  it  was  October  before  Phil  had  con- 
sented to  leave  his  enthralling  Villa,  being  finally 
shooed  out  by  Eliza  who  insisted  that  he  either 
come  over  to  them  and  live  in  a  Christian  house, 
or  go  back  to  his  warm  stable. 

Phil  was  eager  for  news  that  Mr.  Tremaine 
could  give  him. 

481 


The  Inner  Flame 

"Aunt  Isabel  has  written  me  very  little,"  he 
said.  "  I  know  they  are  settled  in  an  apartment 
near  the  park,  but  how  are  they  all,  and  how 
do  they  bear  the  change?" 

"  Wonderfully  well,"  was  the  reply.  "  Mrs. 
Fabian  is  the  one  to  feel  the  pinch,  of  course. 
Kathleen,  not  at  all.  She  has  too  much  resource 
within  herself  to  be  dependent,  and  then  there 
are  not  a  few  people  of  influence  who  would  find 
a  Van  Ruysler  if  she  hid  herself  on  the  East 
Side." 

It  was  true,  Mrs.  Fabian  lived  too  much  in 
reflected  glory  to  suffer  loneliness,  and  as  the 
winter  went  on  Kathleen  drew  her  into  artistic 
circles  where  Philip's  interests  lay,  and  gradu- 
ally she  gained  much  pride  and  satisfaction  in 
the  understanding  of  technical  terms,  and 
learned  not  to  discuss  pictures.  She  even  occa- 
sionally felt  some  remorse  in  the  remembrance 
of  Mrs.  Ballard  and  was  conscious  of  a  wish  that 
she  might  have  sympathized  with  her  more. 

The  startling  event  in  the  family,  however, 
was  provided  by  Edgar.  The  great  Mazzini  was 
as  good  as  his  word,  and  Edgar  Fabian  started 
in  at  once,  on  his  return  to  New  York,  as  a 
teacher  of  the  vocal  art.  Successful  is  too  mild 
a  word  to  be  applied  to  the  young  tenor. 
482 


A  Tidal  Wave 

Mazzini  procured  him  opportunities  to  sing  in 
drawing-rooms  where  he  had  heretofore  been 
the  entertained.  He  sent  pupils  to  him,  and  they 
advertised  him  con  amore.  Before  the  winter 
was  over  he  became  a  fad.  He  drew  a  good  sal- 
ary in  a  fashionable  church.  Other  musicians 
sneered  at  him  as  a  poseur,  and  turned  their 
lunch  tables  into  knockers'  clubs  to  ease  their 
minds  concerning  the  vagaries  of  this  upstart. 

Edgar,  with  his  characteristic  self-assurance 
gave  full  play  to  the  moods  of  which  he  had 
spoken  in  the  past  to  Violet.  Perhaps  he  was  not 
blind  to  the  fact  that  it  was  good  advertising, 
but  in  any  case  it  was  a  temperamental  fling 
which  gave  him  the  utmost  satisfaction. 

He  had  different  sets  of  hangings  made, 
divan  covers,  cushions,  et  cetera,  easily  removed 
and  placed  in  a  box  couch,  so  that  his  pupils 
sometimes  found  a  purple  studio,  sometimes  a 
crimson,  sometimes  one  in  luminous  gold.  None 
knew  beforehand  in  which  mood  the  wonderful 
young  maestro  would  be  found ;  and  they  talked 
of  him  with  bated  breath. 

His  sister  took  the  liberty,  early  in  his  career, 

of  laughing  at  this  ebullition  of  fancy,  but  she 

soon  found  that  Edgar  took  himself  seriously, 

and  she  repressed  her  smiles;  for  nothing  suc- 

483 


The  Inner  Flame 

ceeds  like  success;  and  Edgar  Van  Ruysler 
Fabian  was  an  idol  whom  it  was  not  her  place 
to  knock  from  his  pedestal. 

Violet  Manning  meanwhile  was  industriously 
proceeding  with  her  own  teaching.  As  some  of 
it  lay  in  fashionable  schools,  she  heard  echoes 
of  Edgar's  popularity,  and  she  and  her  house- 
mates often  attended  the  church  where  he  sang. 
He  came  to  their  apartment  occasionally  and 
relaxed  from  the  strain  of  living  up  to  the  ideal 
of  his  admirers  whom  he  terrorized  grandly  at 
moments,  after  the  most  approved  Mazzini 
methods. 

Once  he  had  the  three  bachelor  maids  at  a 
chafing-dish  supper  at  his  studio.  He  was  in  a 
red  mood  that  night,  and  the  crimson  hang- 
ings reminded  Violet  of  the  glowing  heart  which 
always  lay  on  her  dressing-table. 

The  function  was  an  informal  and  jolly  one. 
One  of  the  men  present  was  Edgar's  accom- 
panist, and  he  had  played  for  Violet  to  dance. 
It  was  a  triumphant  occasion  for  the  girl.  She 
looked  charming  in  a  thin  iridescent  gown  which 
changed  with  the  blues  and  greens  of  the  sea 
while  she  floated  and  pirouetted,  as  light  and 
tireless  as  thistledown.  Edgar's  eyes  were 
bright  with  pride  in  her  and  she  was  wildly 

484 


A  Tidal  Wave 

applauded,  sharing  the  honors  of  the  evening 
with  him. 

Edgar  sang  the  better  for  the  inspiration  of 
her,  and  when  at  her  request  he  began,  "O 
moon  of  my  delight,"  she  closed  her  eyes,  shut- 
ting out  the  gay  company  and  the  diffused  rosy 
light.  Again  she  saw  him  stretched  on  the  grass 
in  the  silvery  radiance  of  a  still,  still  night. 

"I  think  Mr.  Fabian  is  in  love  with  Violet," 
said  Regina  afterward,  privately,  to  Roxana. 

"I  think  he  is  in  love  with  himself,"  returned 
Roxana;  "and  I  take  off  my  hat  to  Violet,  for 
I  believe  she  knows  it,  too.  I  'm  afraid  if  I  were 
her  age  and  he  wanted  me,  I  'd  marry  him  even 
if  I  knew  he'd  beat  me  all  the  time  he  was  n't 
singing." 

Her  housemates  noticed  that  Violet  never 
spoke  of  Edgar,  and  they  drew  their  conclusions. 
She  had  a  sketch  of  his  head  done  by  Phil  in  an 
idle  moment,  pinned  up  on  her  wall.  That  and 
the  bonbon  box  were  the  only  evidences  of  the 
acquaintance  save  those  occasional  calls  with 
which  Edgar  favored  the  apartment.  The  fact 
that  he  came  at  all  was  important,  for  his  en- 
gagements were  legion. 

Philip  carried  himself  much  as  he  had  done 
the  winter  before.  Through  the  Fabians  and 

485 


The  Inner  Flame 

Mr.  Tremaine  he  began  to  have  invitations,  but 
he  declined  them.  Mr.  Tremaine  bought  the 
painting  of  the  wave  which  he  had  seen  at  the 
island,  and  one  of  his  friends  bought  another  of 
Phil's  marines. 

The  artist  kept  on  with  his  work  in  the  life 
class  at  the  Academy.  Edgar  sometimes  tried 
to  get  him  for  a  festivity  at  the  studio,  but,  as 
he  told  his  sister  in  disgust,  one  might  as  well 
try  to  get  the  Shah  of  Persia. 

Every  Sunday  evening  Phil  spent  at  the  Fa- 
bians' but  never  since  he  had  returned  to  town 
had  he  made  opportunity  to  resume  a  disturb- 
ing intimacy  with  Kathleen.  Her  book  was 
having  a  fairly  good  sale,  and  the  girl  was  at 
work  upon  another.  Their  lives  lay  apart  mainly 
except  on  the  Sunday  evenings  when  Mr.  Fa- 
bian, once  again  adjusted  to  his  business  life, 
claimed  the  guest  far  more  than  any  of  the 
others. 

Edgar,  finding  that  the  propinquity  of  Phil 
and  Violet  during  his  absence  in  the  summer 
had  not  produced  any  results,  altered  his  ex- 
pectations of  trouble  from  that  quarter.  He 
made  it  a  point  to  spend  his  Sunday  evenings 
with  the  family,  in  order,  as  his  mother  said, 
to  keep  up  the  acquaintance ;  and  on  one  of  these 

486 


A  Tidal  Wave 

evenings,  toward  spring,  he  brought  Violet 
Manning  to  supper. 

The  busy  young  teacher's  friendship  with 
Kathleen  had  not  progressed.  The  latter  firmly 
believed  that  any  romantic  notions  which  such 
a  girl  might  conceive  for  Edgar  would  bring 
her  to  grief  in  the  end ;  and  his  present  amazing 
popularity  but  augmented  that  conviction;  so 
the  girls  had  exchanged  one  call  only  during  the 
season. 

Violet  responded  to  Mrs.  Fabian's  invitation 
for  this  Sunday  and  Edgar  regarded  her  criti- 
cally throughout  the  evening. 

Never  had  he  felt  himself  such  authority  on 
girls  as  now.  They  crowded  his  studio.  Fashion- 
able girls,  wealthy  girls,  pretty  girls,  plain  girls, 
clever  ones,  dull  ones,  aggressive,  and  shy  girls; 
and  he  had  frequently  detected  himself  com- 
paring the  more  interesting  with  Violet.  Her 
spirit,  her  poise,  her  independence,  her  com- 
pact, graceful,  healthy  body,  always  stood  the 
test. 

As  of  old,  to-night  she  seemed  more  interested 
in  Phil  than  in  himself.  Her  spontaneous  joy 
over  the  news  that  during  the  past  week  he  had 
sold  a  third  picture,  actually  roused  again  Ed- 
gar's old  train  of  thought.  How  did  he  know 
487 


The  Inner  Flame 

what  had  occurred  during  the  summer,  between 
the  farmhouse  and  the  Villa  ?  Were  these  two 
only  waiting,  perhaps,  until  Phil  began  to  find 
a  sale  for  his  pictures? 

Poor  little  Violet  was  not  intriguing.  She 
found  herself  embarrassed  in  Edgar's  family 
circle,  and  she  was  defending  herself  in  the  only 
way  she  knew.  It  seemed  as  if  it  must  be  legible 
on  her  face  that  she  out-adored  the  adoration 
of  all  the  singer's  pupils;  and  it  was  a  relief  to 
her  when  she  and  the  object  were  at  last  in  a 
taxicab  on  the  way  home.  The  cover  of  the 
darkness,  and  the  sober  return  to  thoughts  of 
to-morrow's  duties,  made  her  heave  an  inaudi- 
ble sigh;  but  it  is  the  unexpected  that  always 
happens. 

Edgar's  teeth  were  tightly  closed  and  every 
street-lamp  they  passed  showed  him  gazing  at 
his  companion. 

"I  wonder,"  he  said  at  last,  --"I  wonder, 
Violet,  why  I  Ve  never  been  able  to  make  you 
like  me  better.  Other  —  other  people  like 


me." 


"Probably  that's  the  reason,"  returned  the 
girl  lightly.  "Some  one  must  help  strike  an 
average." 

She  did  not  say  it  easily;  for  she  was  obliged 


A  Tidal  Wave 

to  swallow  between  sentences;  but  she  said  it 
pretty  well,  and  applauded  herself. 

"You  see  I  love  you,  Violet,"  he  went  on,  as 
simply  as  the  most  non-temperamental  swain 
could  have  spoken. 

She  shrank  into  her  corner,  and  when  he  tried 
to  take  her  hands  she  crossed  them  quickly 
on  her  breast. 

"  Which  mood  is  this  ? "  she  asked,  a  tumultu- 
ous beating  under  the  crossed  hands. 

"  You  don't  believe  me,"  said  Edgar  quietly. 
"It's  true,  Violet.  I  want  you  to  marry  me. 
You  Ve  made  me  believe  once  or  twice  —  and 
yet  the  next  moment  I  always  feel  your  utter 
indifference.  I'm  afraid  you're  a  flirt." 

"I  know  you  are!"  responded  the  girl,  her 
fingers  whitening  against  her  fluttering  heart. 
"I'm  afraid  of  you,  Edgar." 

Happiness  leaped  into  his  eyes  and  he  gath- 
ered her  hands  into  his  in  spite  of  her. 

"Have  you  ever  seen  'The  Concert'?"  she 
asked  breathlessly. 

"Oh,  that's  what  you  mean!"  exclaimed 
Edgar  triumphantly. 

"You  should  n't  marry,"  said  Violet.  "You 
are  like  a  matinee  idol.  You  will  lose  your  capi- 
tal when  you  marry,  unless  you  are  like  that 

489 


The  Inner  Flame 

selfish  man.  I  warn  you,  I  am  not  like  that  won- 
derful wife.  I  could  n't  bear  it." 

"You've  thought  about  it,  then,"  said  Edgar 
joyously. 

"Yes,  oh,  yes,"  replied  Violet,  her  defences 
down  and  tears  welling  through  her  half-closed 
lids.  "I'm  sure  I  should  be  miserable." 

"Then  you  love  me."  Edgar  drew  her  out  of 
her  corner  into  his  arms.  "Violet,  I  promise 
you—" 

"Dear,"  she  interrupted  him,  "I  am  just  as 
much  afraid  of  myself  as  of  you.  No  convention 
would  hold  me.  The  minute  I  found  you  were 
not  honest  with  me —  that  you  concealed  from 
me —  I  should  go.  You  would  look  about,  and 
I  should  n't  be  there." 

Edgar  held  her  close  in  ecstatic  possession. 

"And  that's  why  I'll  be  honest  with  you, 
Violet.  I  swear  it.  If  we're  both  honest,  what 
can—" 

The  taxi-cab  driver  threw  open  the  door. 

Once  again  the  daisy-snow  drifted  over  the 
hills  on  Brewster's  Island;  and  Eliza  sat  in  the 
doorway  of  the  Villa  Chantecler  watching  Phil 
adjust  his  possessions. 

"When  are  the  Fabians  coming?"  she  asked. 
490 


A  Tidal  Wave 

"Next  week." 

"Are  you  and  Miss  Kathleen  goin'  to  do 
another  book  this  year?" 

"I  hope  so.  She's  going  to  let  me  see  her 
story  when  she  comes.  She  has  written  her  first 
novel." 

Eliza's  eyes  studied  him  sharply  during  a 
silence. 

"Is  she  engaged  yet?"  she  asked. 

"Not  that  I  know  of." 

"I  thought  you  two  were  pretty  thick  one 
time  there  last  summer." 

"It's  not  for  the  likes  o'  me  to  be  thick  with 
the  likes  o'  her,"  replied  Phil,  busy  setting  up 
an  easel. 

"I'd  like  to  know  why  not,"  retorted  Eliza, 
who  had  read  between  the  lines  of  Phil's  letters 
during  the  winter;  and  illustrated  her  imaginings 
with  looks  and  actions  remembered  from  the 
season  before.  "Think  of  the  pictures  you've 
sold  this  winter.  Look  how  quick  you  've  begun 
your  success.  Has  Kathleen  many  beaux?" 

"She  has  worshippers,"  returned  Phil,  with 
a  slight  smile;  "and  several  of  them  come 
much  nearer  to  her  than  I  can." 

"You  can  if  you  want  to,"  said  Eliza  bluntly; 
"you're  a  great  fool  if  you  don't." 
491 


The  Inner  Flame 

Philip  turned  and  looked  at  the  speaker  in 
surprise.  Her  words  were  so  exactly  opposite 
to  the  training  he  gave  himself  night  and  morn- 
ing. 

"  T  ain't  as  if  her  father  was  so  rich  any 
more.  Nobody  could  say  you  was  after  money, 
and,"  Eliza's  voice  lost  its  hardness,  "your 
—  your  Aunt  Mary  left  me  her  ring  you  remem- 
ber." 

Phil  smiled  at  her  openly  now,  then  he  went 
on  with  his  work. 

"You're  a  loyal  soul,  Eliza,  and  you  always 
yearn  to  give  me  everything  I  want;  but  Miss 
Fabian  will  be  married  long  before  I  'm  able  to 
ask  any  woman  to  trust  herself  to  me." 

Eliza  gave  him  a  fierce  nod  and  drew  down 
the  corners  of  her  mouth. 

"7 — don't  —  believe  it!"  she  said,  so  sig- 
nificantly that  Phil  flushed  and  looked  at  her 
again. 

"I've  got  eyes  if  you  have  n't,"  she  added; 
and  with  this  Parthian  shot  she  rose  and  went 
back  to  the  house. 

Philip  went  on  with  his  work,  but  the  flush 
stayed,  and  there  was  a  line  between  his  shining 
eyes. 

At  this  juncture  Pat  came  up  from  the  wharf 
492 


A  Tidal  Wave 

with  a  heavy  package.  The  family  had  returned 
to  the  house  in  Gramercy  Park,  and  he  and 
Phil  had  vacated  the  stable  this  spring. 

"  Sure  the  Queen  o'  Sheby  hersilf  stepped  off 
the  boat,"  he  announced  as  he  came  into  the 
Villa. 

"My  Aunt  come!"  exclaimed  Phil,  turning 
around  quickly.  "  I  wonder  what  changed  their 
plan.  Was  she  alone?" 

"She  was  not,  thin,"  declared  the  Irishman 
proudly.  "D'ye  think  the  Princess  didn't 
come  straight  up  and  hold  out  her  pretty  hand 
with  a  smile  swate  enough  to  beckon  the  bees  ? 
1  How  d  'ye  do,  Pat,'  says  she.  '  'T  is  fine  ye  're  to 
be  here  this  summer,'  says  she.  'We  shall  call 
upon  you  for  a  lot  o'  help,'  she  says." 

Philip  stood  still  in  indecision.  No,he  would  n't 
hurry  over.  They  knew  he  was  not  expecting 
the  arrival;  and  he  fell  to  business  again. 

The  Irishman  looked  about  him,  on  pictures 
and  sketches. 

"Sure  't  is  a  power  o'  work  ye've  done,  me 
bye,"  he  said.  "I  feel  I  shud  have  on  a  bathin' 
suit  to  look  at  'em." 

Eliza  from  her  window  saw  Captain  James 
drive  up  to  the  boulder  cottage  and  saw  the 
ladies  dismount,  and  with  them  the  maid  of 

493 


The  Inner  Flame 

all  work  with  whom  they  intended  this  year  to 
live  the  simple  life.  Pat  would  be  a  valuable 
auxiliary. 

It  was  evening  before  Phil  went  across  the 
field  to  call.  A  brilliant  planet  showed  a  pale 
wake  of  light  across  the  water,  forerunner  of  the 
moon  which  was  soon  to  rise. 

"  So  serene,  so  soft,  is  she,"  thought  Phil,  in 
whose  head  Eliza's  words  still  rang,  "and  so 
remote,"  he  added.  "So  she  shines  on  me,  and 
on  all,  alike.  Eliza  has  n't  seen  the  others,  so 
she  thinks  me  selected";  and  he  pressed  down 
the  stopper  which  a  long  time  ago  he  fitted  to 
repress  disturbing  emotions ;  for  in  the  last  hours 
they  had  effervesced  threateningly  around  its 
rough  edges. 

Mrs.  Fabian  received  him  effusively  and 
Kathleen  with  the  calm  directness  to  which  he 
had  adjusted  himself. 

"Your  portrait  comes  off  this  summer,  Aunt 
Isabel,"  he  said. 

"I  can't  afford  it,  my  dear,"  she  answered. 

Phil  shook  his  head.  "If  I  painted  a  portrait 
of  every  Fabian  on  earth,  would  it  pay  my  debt 
to  you?"  he  asked.  "And  anyway  I  have  the 
finest  collection  of  Sidneys  in  the  country;  but 
there  is  n't  a  portrait  among  them." 

494 


A  Tidal  Wave 

"Do  yourself  sometime,  Phil,  will  you?" 
suggested  Kathleen. 

"Yes,  and  you,"  he  replied.  "I  want  to  do  a 
picture  of  you  on  my  terrace.  Pat  and  I  have 
brought  up  the  bay  to-day;  and  I  want  to  begin 
it  immediately." 

"  I  know,"  laughed  Kathleen.  "You  want  to 
do  both  mother  and  me  before  our  complexions 
desert  us." 

" I '11  take  you  alternate  days  if  you'll  let  me. 
I  'd  like  you  to-morrow,  for  my  background  is 
just  as  I  want  it."  He  turned  to  Mrs.  Fabian. 
"Will  you  lend  me  your  daughter  to-morrow? 
I  have  the  finest  of  Irish  terriers  for  a  watch- 
dog, you  know." 

Mrs.  Fabian  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "I  cer- 
tainly shan't  waste  my  time  chaperoning  you 
two  cousins  at  this  late  day,"  she  answered. 

On  the  afternoon  following  Eliza  met  Kath- 
leen coming  across  the  field.  She  looked  at  her 
in  surprise,  for  instead  of  khaki  the  girl  was 
wearing  a  filmy  white  gown  whose  length  was 
lifted  from  the  clover  and  buttercups,  and  car- 
ried over  her  arm. 

Eliza  looked  admiringly  at  the  lithe  figure, 
and  the  deep  eyes  that  beamed  kindly  upon  her. 

"No  wonder  you  are  startled,  Eliza;  I  am 
495 


The  Inner  Flame 

going  to  sit  for  my  portrait,"  she  said,  clasp- 
ing Miss  Brewster's  hard  hand. 

"You  look  as  if  you  was  ready  for  your  wed- 
ding," returned  Eliza. 

"  I  should  like  it  to  be  here  if  I  ever  have  one," 
said  Kathleen ;  and  Eliza  watched  the  rose-color 
spread  from  the  girl's  cheek  to  her  brow,  while 
the  young  eyes  kept  their  steady,  kind  regard ; 
then  she  inquired  of  Eliza  as  to  the  winter. 

"I  do  believe  she  kind  o'  likes  me  for  his 
sake,"  thought  Eliza,  standing  still  to  look 
after  the  slender,  graceful  figure  when  Kathleen 
moved  on  amid  the  daisies  and  clover. 

"She's  a  flower  herself.  That's  what  she  is, 
and  Mr.  Philip  did  n't  go  as  red  as  a  beet  for 
nothin'  when  I  spoke  yesterday.  He  thinks 
she's  above  him.  There  ain't  anybody  above 
him!" 

Whatever  was  the  errand  that  had  brought 
Eliza  into  the  field  this  afternoon  she  abandoned 
it,  and  turned  slowly  back  toward  the  farm- 
house, glancing  often  at  the  Villa  through  whose 
door  the  slender  white  figure  had  disappeared. 

"  I  wish  there  was  somethin'  I  could  do  to  help 
Jem,"  she  thought.    "That  pretty  critter  can't 
do  a  thing  against  Mr.  Philip's  determination 
if  he's  set  out.  I  know  him" 
496 


A  Tidal  Wave 

"Why  was  Kathleen  so  exquisite?"  asked 
Mrs.  Wright  as  Eliza  came  in. 

"Settin'  for  her  portrait,"  answered  Eliza 
absently.  "  Said  she  was  too  dressed  up  to  come 
and  see  you,  but  would  come  to-morrow." 

"She  was  a  picture  already,  coming  bare- 
headed through  that  flowery  field,"  said  Mrs. 
Wright. 

Eliza  did  not  respond.  She  disappeared  into 
her  own  room  and  closed  the  door.  Then  she 
unlocked  her  trunk  and  took  from  its  depths 
a  package  which  she  untied,  disclosing  a  fine 
camel's-hair  shawl.  She  unfolded  it  with  loving 
fingers,  and  regarded  it.  "A  good  enough  wed- 
din'  present  even  for  her,"  she  muttered. 

Then  she  reached  into  another  corner  and 
took  out  a  tin  box  which  she  unlocked  and  drew 
forth  a  tiny  velvet  case,  rubbed  and  worn. 
When  she  opened  this,  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes 
and  she  lifted  it  to  her  lips.  "Nothin5  could 
make  you  so  happy,  my  dear  one,"  she  mur- 
mured brokenly.  "  Nothin' !  Nothin' ! " 

Half  an  hour  later  Eliza  entered  the  Villa. 
Pat  was  doing  some  scraping  of  palette  knives 
in  the  kitchen.  She  looked  timidly  out  on  the 
terrace.  A  lovely  living  picture  met  her  eyes. 

497 


The  Inner  Flame 

Kathleen  was  sitting  on  the  white  railing,  her 
filmy  gown  falling  in  folds  at  her  feet.  Behind 
her  rose  the  bay-crowned  pillar  casting  shadows 
on  the  red-glints  of  her  hair. 

"  Mr.  Philip,  please  excuse  me,"  said  Eliza 
humbly;  "but  could  you  spare  Pat  to  go  on  an 
errand  for  us?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  replied  Phil  absently,  working 
at  a  white  heat. 

Eliza  withdrew  with  quiet  celerity.  The  er- 
rand she  required  was  to  be  performed  at  a  dis- 
tance, and  she  was  so  nervous  while  she  gave 
Pat  directions  that  he  grinned  at  her. 

"Ye 're  thinkin'  about  thim  /"  he  said,  jerking 
his  thumb  over  his  shoulder  in  the  direction  of 
the  terrace. 

Eliza's  eyes  widened.  "Why  in  the  world 
should  I  think  about  them?"  she  asked,  all  the 
time  tolling  Pat  away  toward  the  farmhouse. 

"I  cud  look  at  'em  from  now  till  Christmas 
sittin'  there,"  he  responded.  "I  don't  blame 
ye." 

"I  have  n't  asked  you  about  the  turtle 
doves,"  said  Phil,  sketching  in  Kathleen's 
hands. 

"They  believe  themselves  the  happiest  people 
498 


A  Tidal  Wave 

in  the  world,  and  perhaps  they  are.  Violet  has 

really  convinced  me  that  she  is  the  right  girl  for 

Edgar.  A  meek  one  would  have  little  chance." 

"They're  coming  up  here,  I  suppose." 

"Oh,  yes.  Edgar  can't  get  his  vacation  from 

the  church  quite  yet,  and  she'll  not  come  till  he 


can.'! 


"Of  course  not,"  replied  Phil  simply.  "How 
can  one  voluntarily  live  without  the  other  a  day 
after  the  great  discovery  is  made?" 

Kathleen  made  no  answer  to  this.  The  lump 
that  rose  in  her  throat  was  rebellious ;  and  the 
artist,  looking  up  suddenly,  met  fire  in  the 
depths  of  her  dark  eyes.  The  lids  dropped.  His 
hand  grew  suddenly  unsteady. 

:'Tell  me  when  you're  tired,  Kathleen,"  he 
said.  "We  have  the  summer."  He  smiled  as  he 
spoke;  but  it  was  a  rigid  sort  of  smile. 

The  field  sown  thickly  with  the  late  wild- 
flowers  of  the  island,  and  stretching  to  a  spark- 
ling sea,  the  rustling  orchard  leaves,  and  the 
crown  of  bay  behind  the  queenly  young  head, 
the  soft  white  figure  with  the  loosely  dropped 
hands !  It  was  no  time  or  place  for  Kathleen  to 
look  at  him  like  that. 

"  I  'm  tired  now,  I  believe,"  she  said,  quietly. 
"  Will  it  be  enough  for  to-day?" 
499 


The  Inner  Flame 

"At  least  until  you're  rested.  Come  in 
and  let  me  show  you  a  sketch  I  did  yester- 
day." 

She  rose  and  lifted  her  white  shoulders  with 
a  movement  of  weariness,  then  they  moved  in- 
side the  room. 

A  vase  of  daisies  stood  on  the  table.  "  I  be- 
lieve," said  Phil,  "I  should  have  asked  you  to 
wear  daisies  in  your  hair." 

They  were  standing  by  the  table  and  he  took 
three  of  the  long  stems  and  breaking  them  to 
convenient  length  made  a  movement  toward 
her  head.  Then  he  shrank.  "Put  them  in,  will 
you?"  he  asked. 

The  least  smile  touched  her  lips,  and  her 
hands  hung  down. 

"You  know  best  what  you  want,"  she  replied 
and  inclined  her  regal  head  toward  him. 

The  golden  radiance  streamed  through  the 
small-paned  windows  and  reddened  her  hair. 

Phil's  fingers  trembled  as  they  tucked  the 
flower  stems  under  the  soft  folds.  He  dropped 
his  eyes  from  the  lustrous  tints,  and  they  caught 
a  sudden  elusive  spark  of  violet,  then  green  that 
shone  on  the  table.  He  looked  closer,  and 
pointed. 

"Did  you  leave  your  ring  there?"  he  asked. 
500 


A  Tidal  Wave 

Kathleen  looked.  A  diamond  ring  was  shining 
beneath  the  tall  candlestick. 
She  shook  her  daisy-crowned  head. 
"It's  not  mine,"  she  said,  wondering.  "I 


never  saw  it.' 


"Nor  I."  Phil's  breath  came  faster.  "This  is 
an  enchanted  place,  Kathleen.  The  very  spirit 
of  the  sea  must  have  pitied  me  in  my  struggle 
and  brought  this  ring."  The  ring!  He  looked 
at  it,  dazed  for  another  moment,  then  like  a 
flash  he  remembered  Eliza's  interruption,  and 
his  illumined  eyes  met  Kathleen's,  grave  and 
wondering. 

"  I  adore  you,  my  darling.  I  give  up  the  fight." 
He  kept  his  eyes  on  hers  as  he  picked  up  the 
quaint  little  jewel  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

Kathleen  smiled  at  him,  then  her  eyes  veiled 
and  dropped. 

He  lifted  her  hand  and  slowly  put  the  ring  on 
her  finger;  for  the  inner  sanctuary  of  her  heart 
had  flown  open,  and  he  had  seen  within. 

Quickly  he  clasped  her  close  in  his  arms.  She 
clung  to  him,  and  the  golden  radiance  enve- 
loped them. 

THE    END 


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RIDERS  OF  THE  PURPLE  SAGE,    By  Zane  Grey. 

Illustrated  by  Douglas  Duer. 

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FRIAR  TUCK.    By  Robert  Alexander  Wason. 
Illustrated  by  Stanley  L.  Wood. 

Happy  Hawkins  tells  us,  in  his  humorous  way,  how  Friar  Tuck 
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Colored  frontispiece  by  John  Rae. 

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grimage, and  the  birth  and  growth  of  the  absorbing  love  of  two  strong 
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THE  BOSS    OF  WIND  RIVER,    By  A.  M.  Chisholm. 
Illustrated  by  Frank  Tenney  Johnson. 

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JOYCE   OF  THE  NORTH  WOODS,    By  Harriet  T.  Comstock. 

Illustrated  by  John  Cassel. 

A  story  of  the  deep  woods  that  shows  the  power  of  love  at  work 
among  its  primitive  dwellers.  It  is  a  tensely  moving  study  of  the 
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Full  of  originality  and   humor,   kindliness  and  cheer 

THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW.  Large  Octavo.  Decorative 
text  pages,  printed  in  two  colors.  Illustrations  by  Alice 
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PENELOPE'S  PROGRESS.  Attractive  cover  design  hi 
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PENELOPE'S  IRISH  EXPERIENCES.  Uniform  in  style 
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REBECCA  OF  SUNNYBROOK  FARM. 

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NEW  CHRONICLES  OF  REBECCA.  With  illustrations 
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Some  more  quaintly  amusing  chronicles  that  carry  Rebecca 
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ROSE  O'  THE  RIVER.  With  illustrations  by  George 
Wright 

The  simple  story  of  Rose,  a  country  girl  and  Stephen  a  sturdy 
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JEWEL:  A  Chapter  in  Her  Life. 
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clever  group  of  people  are  introduced  to  the  reader. 

SWEET  CLOVER:    A  Romance  of  the  White  City. 

A  story  of  Chicago  at  the  time  of  the  World's  Fair.  A  sweet  hu- 
man story  that  touches  the  heart. 

THE  OPENED  SHUTTERS. 
Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

A  summer  haunt  on  an  island  in  Casco  Bay  is  the  background 
for  this  romance.  A  beautiful  woman,  at  discord  with  life,  is  brought 
to  realize,  by  her  new  friends,  that  she  may  open  the  shutters  of  her 
soul  to  the  blessed  sunlight  of  joy  by  casting  aside  vanity  and  self 
love.  A  delicately  humorous  work  with  a  lofty  motive  underlying  it  all. 

THE  RIGHT  PRINCESS. 

An  amusing  story,  opening  at  a  fashionable  Long  Island  resort, 
where  a  stately  Englishwoman  employs  a  forcible  New  England 
housekeeper  to  serve  in  her  interesting  home.  How  types  so  widely 
apart  react  on  each  other's  lives,  all  to  ultimate  good,  makes  a  story 
both  humorous  and  rich  in  sentiment. 

THE   LEAVEN  OF  LOVE. 
Frontispiece  by  Harrison  Fisher. 

At  a  Southern  California  resort  a  world-weary  woman,  young  and 
beautiful  but  disillusioned,  meets  a  girl  who  has  learned  the  art  of 
living — of  tasting  life  in  all  its  richness,  opulence  and  joy.  The  story 
hinges  upon  the  change  wrought  in  the  soul  of  the  blase  woman  by 
this  glimpse  into  a  cheery  life. 

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TITLES    SELECTED    FROM 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAPS  LIST 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.       Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list 

THE  SIEGE  OF  THE  SEVEN  SUITORS.    By  Meredith  Nich- 
olson.    Illustrated  by  C.  Coles  Phillips  and  Reginald  Birch. 

Seven  suitors  vie  with  each  other  for  the  love  of  a  beautiful 
girl,  and  she  subjects  them  to  a  test  that  is  fnll  of  mystery,  magic 
and  sheer  amusement. 

THE  MAGNET.    By  Henry  C.  Rowland.    Illustrated  by  Clarence 
F.  Underwood. 

The  story  of  a  remarkable  courtship  involving  three  pretty 
girls  on  a  yacht,  a  poet -lover  in  pursuit,  and  a  mix-up  in  the  names 
of  the  girls. 

THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD.  By  Eugenia  Brooks  Frothingham. 
A  beautiful  young  opera  singer  chooses  professional  success 
instead  of  love,  but  comes  to  a  place  in  life  where  the  call  of  the 
heart  is  stronger  than  worldly  success. 

SCOTTIE  AND  HIS  LADY.     By  Margaret  Morse.    Illustrated 
by  Harold  M.  Brett. 

A  young  girl  whose  affections  have  been  blighted  is  presented 
with  a  Scotch  Collie  to  divert  her  mind,  and  the  roving  adventures 
of  her  pet  lead  the  young  mistress  into  another  romance. 

SHEILA  VEDDER,    By  Amelia  E.  Barr.    Frontispiece  by  Harri- 
son Fisher. 

A  very  beautiful  romance  of  the  Shetland  Islands,  with  a 
handsome,  strong  willed  hero  and  a  lovely  girl  of  Gaelic  blood  as 
heroine.  A  sequel  to  "Jan  Vedder's  Wife." 

JOHN  WARD.  PREACHER.    By  Margaret  Deland. 

The  first  big  success  of  this  much  loved  American  novelist. 
It  is  a  powerful  portrayal  of  a  young  clergyman's  attempt  to  win  his 
beautiful  wife  to  his  own  narrow  creed. 

THE    TRAIL  OF    NINETY-EIGHT.    By  Robert  W.  Service. 
Illustrated  by  Maynard  Dixon. 

One  of  the  best  stories  of  "Vagabondia  "  ever  written,  and 
one  of  the  most  accurate  and  picturesque  of  the  stampede  of  gold 
seekers  to  the  Yukon.  The  love  story  embedded  in  the  narrative 
is  strikingly  original, 

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